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THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 


I    HEARD    YOU    READING,     HE   SAID   SIMPLY 


THE   WIND  BEFORE 
THE  DAWN 

BY 
DELL  H.  MUNGER 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
THOMAS  FOGARTY 


GARDEN  CITY        NEW  YORK 

DOUBLED  AY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     Castles  in  Spain 3 

II.     Brushing  up  to  go  to  Topeka 43 

III.  Reforms  not  easy  to  discuss 74 

IV.  A  cultured  man 92 

V.     Reaching  hungry  hands  toward  a  symbol   .     .     .     .  115 

VI.     "Didn't  take 'em  long" 131 

VII.     Erasing  her  blackboard 150 

VIII.     Cyclones 174 

IX.     "Against  her  instincts,  against  her  better  judgment, 

against  her  will" 195 

X.     Philosophy  of  Elizabeth's  life  voiced 210 

XL     "Wives,  submit  yourselves  unto  your  husbands  as 

unto  the  Lord" 224 

XII.     "Pore  little  woman" »    ....  266 

XIII.  "Ennobled  by  the  reflected  glory  of  another's  good- 

ness and  love" 291 

XIV.  Mortgages  of  soul 317 


2137299 


CONTENTS— Continued 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV.     Hugh  Noland 353 

XVI.     Revivifying  fires 356 

XVII.     Adjusting  domestic  to  social  ideals 372 

XVIII.     The  child  of  her  body 399 

XIX.     "Her  wages,  food  and  clothing,  she  must  accept"  .     .  419 

XX.     The  cream-jars  of  her  life -    .     .  426 

XXI.     Bound  to  the  stake 458 

XXII.     "There  are   some  things   we    have    to    settle    for 

ourselves" 467 

XXIII.  "At  any  cost" 496 

XXIV.  Facing  consequences 506 

XXV.     "The  weight  of  a  dollar!    Free— and  out  of  debt. 

Don't  forget  that!" 534 

XXVI.     "Was — was  my  papa  here  then" 540 

XXVII.     To  do  over,  and  do  better,  was  the  opportunity 

offered 548 

XXVIII.     "Till  death  do  you  part,"  considered 562 

Acknowledgments 565 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"'  I  heard  you  reading/  he  said  simply  ".         .        .        Frontispiece 

PACING  PAGE 

"'Let 'em  go,  Lizzie!    You  can't  stop  'em!     We'll  just  follow 

'em  up!'"    .        .        .        .  8 

' '  Now  look  here,  Lizzie,     .     .     .     your  pa  expects  it ' "  .         .       92 

"  Looking  wildly  about  in  all  directions,  Luther    called    her 

name" 184 

"  The  young  wife  buried  her  face  in  the  counterpane  and  did 

not  attempt  to  reply  " 228 

"  He  chuckled  to  the  baby  and  began  to  trot  him  up  and  down 

on  his  knee  " 386 

"  The  girl  also  knelt  at  his  side  rendering  such  assistance  as  was 

in  her  power  " 460 

"  John  Hunter's  familiar  handwriting  stared  at  her  from  the 

top  envelope " 548 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 


CHAPTER  I 

CASTLES    IN    SPAIN 

THE  unclouded  sun  of  a  burning  August  day  had 
driven  bird  and  beast  to  shelter  wherever  a  bit  of 
shade  could  be  found.  The  Kansas  prairie  af- 
forded little  refuge  from  sun  or  wind.  The  long  stretches 
of  low  rolling  hills  were  mostly  covered  with  short  grass, 
now  dry  from  a  protracted  season  of  drought.  Occa- 
sionally a  group  of  stunted  cottonwood  trees  surrounded 
an  equally  stunted  looking  hut,  or  dugout,  but  the  blazing 
sunshine  had  browned  all  to  a  monotonous  tone  in  keep- 
ing with  the  monotonous  life  it  represented.  The  only 
corn  to  be  seen  was  of  the  variety  called 'sod-corn,  which, 
unwashed  by  rain  for  a  full  month  now,  had  failed  to 
mature,  such  stalks  as  had  tasselled  at  all  being  as  barren  as 
the  rest  because  the  tender  silks  had  dried  too  rapidly  and 
could  furnish  no  fertilizing  moisture  to  the  pollen  which 
sifted  down  from  the  scanty  bloom  above. 

The  sun's  rays  beat  down  upon  the  head  of  a  fourteen- 
year-old  girl  who  rode  slowly  around  a  herd  of  cattle,  the 
members  of  which  lay  in  the  unavailing  shade  of  the 
rosin  weeds  or  browsed  drowsily  on  the  short  grass.  The 
day  had  been  long  and  hard.  The  child  knew  that  it  was 
not  later  than  two  o'clock,  having  counted  the  hours 

3 


4  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

eagerly  since  early  morning,  and  having  eaten  her  bit  oi 
cornbread  and  bacon  full  two  hours  before.  She  stopped 
her  horse  for  the  fortieth  time,  however,  to  get  the  angle 
of  her  shadow  on  the  ground  and  to  confirm  her  calcula- 
tions. The  sigh  she  gave  as  she  again  started  on  her  round 
was  not  of  relief,  but  of  resignation.  It  was  necessary  to 
keep  on  the  move  or  she  was  likely  to  fall  asleep  in  her 
saddle,  and  then  the  cattle  would  escape  to  the  nearby 
fields,  and  there  would  be  a  neighbourhood  altercation 
over  the  matter,  whether  the  fields  held  crops  of  value  or 
not,  farmers  being  jealous  of  their  territorial  rights,  and 
ready  to  resent  intrusion  upon  them. 

Another  horseback  rider  was  moving  across  the  prairie 
toward  her,  and  the  girl  smiled  when  she  saw  him  and 
stopped  to  watch  his  calico  pony  lope  unevenly  across  the 
grass-covered  slope.  The  pony  was  prone  to  drop  into  a 
rough  trot  at  short  intervals,  and  at  such  times  was  urged 
to  renewed  efforts  by  a  dig  of  its  rider's  heels  in  the  under 
regions  of  its  stunted  body.  In  order  to  get  his  heels  in 
contact  with  his  mount,  the  lanky  boy  was  obliged  to 
elevate  his  knees  slightly,  and  when  it  was  over  his  feet 
dropped  languidly  and  his  heavy  plow-shoes  dangled 
loosely,  with  several  inches  of  bare  ankle  in  evidence  be- 
fore the  faded  overalls  concealed  further  stretches  of  the 
hairy  legs. 

"Howdie,  Lizzie!"  he  said  with  a  pleasant  smile  as  he 
drew  his  pony  up  beside  her.  "I've  got  something  to  tell 
you.  We've  sold  out,  an'  goin'  right  off.  Th'  other  folks 
moved  in  last  night.  They  was  goin'  through  with  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN     5 

wagon  an'  stopped  to  eat.  They  found  out  that  pap 
wanted  to  sell  an'  go  back  to  Minnesoty,  an'  took  th'  land 
quick.  I've  come  to  say  good-bye." 

It  had  been  so  exciting  that  he  had  tumbled  his  news  all 
out  at  once,  although  he  was  a  quiet  boy  and  slow  of  speech. 

"Oh,  Luther!  Are  you  really  going  away?"  the  girl 
exclaimed  in  dismay. 

"  Yass,"  the  boy  replied,  falling  back  unconsciously  into 
Swedish  pronunciation.  He  had  begun  his  announcement 
with  pleased  animation,  but  now  that  it  was  out,  and  she 
was  sorry,  the  going  did  not  seem  so  pleasing.  "I  wisht 
I  wasn't!"  he  added  with  quick  dejection. 

"I  should  think  you'd  be  glad.  I'd  be  glad,  if  I  was 
going  too." 

The  boy  looked  surprised  and  asked  with  some  curiosity, 
"What  do  you  want  to  go  for?  I  thought  you  liked 
Kansas." 

"Put  your  hand  on  your  horse's  neck,"  she  commanded, 
leaning  forward  and  setting  the  example. 

The  boy  did  as  she  told  him,  but  drew  his  hand  back 
suddenly. 

"Gosh!"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't  their  hair  get  hot  in 
this  sun!" 

"Well,  I'm  just  as  hot  as  that  all  over,"  she  replied 
emphatically,  "and  I  want  to  go  to  a  country  where  a 
body  can  get  under  a  tree  once  in  a  while.  I  can't  go  in 
till  five  o'clock,  and  I  forgot  my  jug,  and  I'm  so  thirsty 
I  feel  as  if  I'd  crack  like  this  ground,"  she  said,  pointing 
to  the  earth  between  them. 


6     THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Jimminy!  I'll  ride  back  and  fetch  you  a  drink,"  he 
said,  poking  his  heels  into  his  pony's  ribs  so  suddenly  that 
the  little  beast  kicked  spitefully. 

The  girl  called  after  him  to  "never  mind,"  but  he  was 
off  on  his  errand.  It  was  a  good  mile  to  her  home,  but 
the  boy  knew  what  it  meant  to  forget  the  water-jug  on  a 
day  like  this. 

When  he  returned  half  an  hour  later  the  sunshine  had 
changed  character  and  there  was  a  peculiar  dimming  of 
its  brilliancy. 

"Is  it  going  to  rain?"  the  girl  asked  as  she  lowered  the 
jug  to  her  knee.  She  wiped  her  lips  on  the  skirt  of  the 
faded  sunbonnet  she  wore  and  looked  up  again. 

"Rain!"  Luther  Hansen  swept  the  horizon  with  the  air 
of  one  who  knew  the  signs,  backing  his  horse  about  to  see 
on  all  sides  as  he  did  so. 

"Th*  don't  seem  t'  be  any  clouds,"  he  said  in  surprise. 
"Ain't  it  queer!  Looks  's  if  it  might  be  some  kind  of 
eclipse,"  he  said.  "Do  you  remember  —  no,  of  course 
you  don't  —  but,  th'  was  an  eclipse  of  th'  sun  —  total,  I 
believe  they  called  it  —  when  I  was  only  about  seven 
year  old.  All  th'  chickens  went  to  roost,  it  got  so  dark, 
an'  when  th'  cover  come  off  they  crowed  's  if  'twas  mornin'. 
We  had  a  blue  hen  an'  she  crowed  too.  Pap  killed  'er. 
He  said  it  was  bad  luck  t'  have  a  hen  crowin'  about  th' 
place." 

"You  all  don't  believe  in  luck,  do  you?"  the  child  asked. 

"I  don't,  but  pap  does,"  the  boy  answered  apologeti- 
cally. "  I  cried  about  th'  blue  hen;  she  was  just  like  a  dog; 


she'd  let  you  ketch  'er,  an'  she'd  sing,  'co-ook,  co-ook, 
co-ook,'  to  'erself,  right  in  your  arms,  an'  wasn't  afraid. 
She  wouldn't  never  set  though.  I  guess  that's  why  pap 
was  so  ready  with  his  axe." 

Happening  to  look  up  again,  the  girl  gave  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise.  "Is  it  snow?"  she  asked. 

"No!" 

They  sat  with  their  faces  turned  skyward,  studying  the 
upper  air  intently.  The  sun  was  completely  obscured 
now  and  the  rapidly  moving  mass,  not  unlike  snow  indeed, 
was  being  driven  straight  toward  the  north.  Whatever 
it  was,  it  was  driving  fiercely  ahead,  as  if  impelled  by  a 
strong  wind,  though  there  was  not  a  breath  of  air  stirring 
below.  Soon  small  objects  began  to  detach  themselves 
from  the  mass,  so  that  the  eye  could  distinguish  separate 
particles,  which  looked  not  unlike  scraps  of  silver  driven 
with  terrific  force  from  the  tail  end  of  some  gigantic  ma- 
chine. One  of  these  scraps  struck  the  girl  on  the  cheek 
and  she  put  her  hand  up  quickly  to  feel  the  spot.  While 
examining  the  place  she  received  a  similar  blow  on  the 
forehead  and  another  on  the  back  of  her  hand.  Drawing 
her  bonnet  down  tight  over  her  face  for  protection,  she 
shaded  her  eyes  and  again  looked  up.  The  whole  moving 
cloud  had  lowered  to  a  distinguishable  distance. 

"Why,  they're  all  grasshoppers!"  she  exclaimed;  and 
indeed  so  true  was  the  observation  and  so  rapidly  were 
the  grasshoppers  settling  that  the  boy  and  girl  were  obliged 
to  turn  their  backs  and  shield  their  faces  from  the  storm. 

The  cattle  also,  annoyed  by  the  myriads  of  insects 


8     THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

settling  upon  them,  began  to  move  about  restlessly  and 
presently  to  mill  slowly  around,  threshing  with  their  heads 
from  side  to  side  while  they  whipped  their  flanks  with  their 
tails. 

"I  didn't  know  they  came  like  this!"  the  girl  said,  as 
Luther's  pony  sidled  over  toward  her. 

" What'd  you  say?"  the  boy  demanded,  leaning  forward 
to  catch  her  reply. 

"I  said  I  didn't  know  they  came  like  this,"  the  girl 
shouted,  raising  her  voice  to  make  herself  heard  above 
the  rasping  noise  of  many  wings.  "Father  read  out  of 
the  Prairie  Farmer  last  week  that  they  was  hatching  out 
in  the  south." 

The  two  drifted  apart  and  circled  about  the  herd  again. 
The  cattle  were  growing  more  restless  and  began  to  move 
determinedly  away  from  the  oncoming  swarm.  To  keep 
them  in  the  centre  of  the  section,  and  away  from  the  corn- 
fields, the  girl  whipped  her  horse  into  a  gallop. 

Without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  either  her 
voice  or  her  whip,  half  blinded  in  fact  by  the  cutting 
wings  of  the  grasshoppers,  the  irritated  cattle  began  to 
move  faster  and,  before  either  boy  or  girl  knew  what  was 
happening,  were  in  full  trot  toward  the  north.  Seeing 
that  the  matter  was  becoming  serious,  Luther  lent  all  the 
aid  of  which  he  was  capable  and  circled  about  the  herd, 
shouting  with  all  his  strength,  but  the  cattle,  contending 
against  countless  numbers  of  smaller  things  and  unable 
to  look  steadily  in  any  direction  because  of  the  little  wings 
which  cut  like  the  blades  of  many  saws,  stumbled  blindly 


"LET  'EM  GO,  LIZZIE!    you  CAN'T  STOP  'EM!    WE'LL  JUST 
FOLLOW  'EM  UP!  ' " 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN     9 

+ 

against  his  horse  if  he  got  in  their  way,  and,  shifting  around 
him,  went  on. 

The  girl  was  beside  herself  with  trouble  and  anxiety. 
Lashing  her  horse  one  minute,  and  the  nearest  cow  the 
next,  she  raged  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  herd,  bending 
all  her  energies  toward  deflecting  her  charges  from  their 
course,  but  the  struggle  was  useless. 

Seeing  that  they  could  do  nothing,  Luther  caught  her 
horse  by  the  bit  as  she  passed  him  and  shouted  explana- 
tions in  her  ear. 

"Let  'em  go,  Lizzie!  You  can't  stop  'em!  I'll  have 
t'  come  with  you!  We'll  just  follow  'em  up!" 

"But  they're  going  to  get  into  that  field  right  off  if  we 
don't  get  them  turned!"  the  girl  cried  in  distress,  pulling 
down  her  long  scoop-like  bonnet  and  holding  it  together 
to  keep  the  grasshoppers  out  of  her  face  while  they  talked. 

The  cattle  now  broke  into  a  run.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  follow,  ( as  Luther  had  advised.  But  the  ex- 
asperated beasts  were  not  looking  for  fodder  and  paid  no 
attention  to  the  corn.  They  were  not  out  on  a  picnicking 
expedition;  they  were  escaping  from  this  tormenting 
swarm  of  insects  which  settled  on  itching  back  and  horns 
and  tail,  settled  anywhere  that  a  sufficiently  broad  sur- 
face presented  itself.  Having  started  to  run,  they  ran  on 
and  on  and  on.  The  boy  and  girl  followed,  their  horses 
stumbling  blindly  over  the  ridges  between  which  the  corn 
was  growing.  The  grayish  brown  sod,  through  which 
the  matted  white  roots  of  the  grass  showed  plainly,  lay  in 
fine  lines  down  the  long  field,  their  irregular  edges  causing 


io          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

horses  and  cattle  to  go  down  on  their  knees  frequently  as 
they  ran.  But  though  the  cattle  sometimes  fell,  they 
were  as  quickly  up  and  pushed  blindly  ahead,  neither 
knowing  nor  caring  where  they  were  going,  their  only 
instinct  being  to  get  away. 

Not  a  breath  of  air  was  in  motion  except  such  as  was 
stirred  by  the  wings  of  the  grasshoppers  or  was  blown  from 
the  hot  nostrils  of  the  harassed  cattle.  They  passed 
through  the  cornfield,  over  a  stubblefield  beyond,  through 
a  slough,  another  stubblefield,  and  on  to  the  open  prairie 
of  another  section  of  "Railroad  land."  The  boy  and 
girl  made  no  further  attempt  to  guide  them.  A  cow,  with 
the  tickling  feet  of  half  a  dozen  of  these  devils  of  torment 
on  the  end  of  a  bare,  wet  nose,  was  in  no  state  of  mind  to 
be  argued  with,  and  the  tossing  horns,  threshing  about  to 
free  the  head  from  the  pests,  were  to  be  taken  into  sober 
account.  All  they  could  do  was  to  let  the  maddened 
beasts  take  their  own  course. 

For  an  hour,  helpless  to  prevent  the  stampede,  desiring 
nothing  now  but  to  keep  the  cattle  in  sight,  the  weary, 
sunbaked  children  trudged  along  in  the  rear  of  the  herd, 
following  through  fields  cut  and  uncut,  over  the  short 
grass  of  the  hills  or  the  long  bluestem  of  the  hollows,  their 
horses  sweating  profusely,  their  own  faces  too  parched 
to  emit  moisture,  conscious  only  of  the  business  of  follow- 
ing the  panting  herd  and  of  avoiding  the  pitfalls  under 
their  horses'  feet. 

At  last  the  cattle  came  to  a  walk.  The  heat  of  the  day 
and  the  unusual  exertion  had  told  upon  them.  Occasion- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN     n 

ally  a  tongue  lolled  from  the  mouth  of  some  wearied  beast, 
but  it  was  not  permitted  even  that  respite  for  long;  the 
grasshoppers  respected  no  part  of  the  bovine  anatomy, 
and  with  an  angry  snort  and  an  annoyed  toss  of  the 
head  the  tongue  would  be  withdrawn. 

The  perspiring  cattle  seemed  so  fatigued  that  the  de- 
spairing children  thought  at  last  that  they  might  be  turned 
toward  home,  but  though  whips  and  voices  were  used  to 
the  utmost  the  nettled  beasts  could  not  be  made  to  face 
the  stinging  devils  which  settled  thicker  and  ever  thicker 
about  them.  They  came  down  to  a  walk,  but  they  walked 
doggedly  toward  the  north.  At  last  the  sun's  rays  began 
to  peep  through.  The  air  soon  cleared,  and  the  scorched 
and  burning  children  began  to  wish  for  even  a  cloud  of 
grasshoppers  to  protect  them  from  the  heat.  Wherever 
the  light  fell  it  disclosed  moving  masses  of  locusts  which 
covered  the  entire  face  of  the  landscape.  The  teeming 
cloud  of  insects  was  a  pest  equal  to  that  of  the  lice  of 
Egypt.  They  overflowed  the  Kansas  prairies  like  the 
lava  from  Mount  Vesuvius,  burying  vegetation  and  caus- 
ing every  living  thing  to  flee  from  their  path. 

At  last  the  storm  spent  itself.  The  sun  came  out  clear, 
and  as  hot  as  molten  brass.  The  cattle  could  hold  out 
no  longer.  The  swarms  which  flew  up  in  front  of  their 
moving  feet  were  as  unbearable  as  any  that  had  come  from 
above.  The  exhausted  beasts  gave  up  and  permitted 
themselves  to  be  headed  toward  home. 

"I  began  to  think  they  wouldn't  stop  till  they  had 
reached  the  State  line,"  the  girl  said  with  a  relieved  sigh, 


12  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

when  they  were  safely  started  down  the  first  road  they 
came  upon  after  turning  south  again. 

Luther  made  no  reply.  He  had  stopped  the  pony  and 
was  watching  the  inroads  of  numberless  scissor-like 
mouths  on  a  stub  of  corn  near  the  roadside.  The  tassel 
was  gone,  the  edges  of  the  leaves  were  eaten  away,  and 
lines  of  hungry  insects  hung  to  the  centre  rib  of  each 
blade,  gnawing  and  cutting  at  every  inch  of  the  stem. 

"Th'  won't  be  a  cornstalk  left  standin'  by  night,"Luther 
observed  as  the  girl  rode  up  to  see  what  it  was  that  at- 
tracted his  attention.  "Crackie!  but  I'm  glad  pap's  sold 
out.  It'd  be  no  shoes  for  me  this  winter  if  we  didn't  get 
away,"  he  added,  spitefully  brushing  a  grasshopper  from 
the  end  of  his  nose  and  rubbing  the  injured  member. 

The  girl's  face  fell  at  the  mention  of  hard  times.  Times 
were  always  hard  in  the  Farnshaw  home,  but  she  could 
never  get  accustomed  to  them,  and  each  new  phase  of  the 
trouble  was  a  blow.  The  sensitive  child  already  carried 
a  load  of  financial  worry  which  was  tugging  at  every 
pleasure  her  young  life  craved. 

"Won't  we  have  any  corn  at  all?"  she  cried  in  dismay. 

"I  don't  know,"  Luther  answered  dubiously.  "It'll 
be  starvin'  times  about  here.  You  better  get  your  folks 
t'  sell  out  and  go  East  too,"  he  said,  without  looking  up. 

The  child's  fear  of  financial  disaster  was  eased  by  the 
prospect  of  "goin*  East."  The  "East"  was  the  fairyland 
of  her  dreams,  the  childhood's  home  of  her  father,  who  was 
a  good  story-teller  when  he  was  not  irritated,  the  Mecca 
and  Medina  of  all  the  pilgrimages  of  all  their  little  world. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  13 

+ 

To  go  East  was  to  be  a  travelled  person,  to  attain  distinc- 
tion, just  the  next  best  thing  in  fact  to  being  made  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.  To  go  East  was  to  live  near 
the  timber,  where  one  could  wander  for  hours,  days,  ages, 
in  the  cool  freshness  of  its  shady  paths.  The  sunburned 
child,  with  her  jug  hanging  by  a  strap  from  the  saddle 
horn,  had  a  swift,  rapturous  vision  of  alluring,  mossy 
banks,  canopied  by  rustling  leaves,  before  she  was  called 
back  to  the  stern  hills  of  her  native  Kansas  and  the  sterner 
necessity  of  forcing  a  hundred  head  of  maddened  cattle 
to  keep  within  the  confines  of  an  illy  defined  road. 

By  the  time  they  had  ridden  ahead  and  crowded  the 
cattle  down  to  the  right  of  way  again,  the  child's  natural 
good  sense  and  business  instincts  had  combined  to  tem- 
porarily shatter  the  dream. 

"Nobody  'd  buy  us  out  if  there  ain't  nothing  to  feed 
the  cattle,"  she  said,  watching  the  boy's  face  eagerly  in 
the  hope  that  he  would  reassure  her. 

When  he  did  not  speak,  she  added,  with  discouraged 
conviction,  "Pa  wouldn't  sell  out  anyhow;  ma's  been 
trying  to  get  him  to  for  a  year." 

"He'll  have  to.  You  won't  be  able  t'  stay  if  there's 
nothin'  t'  feed,"  the  lad  said  with  emphasis,  and  then 
added  with  a  giggle,  "I  bet  th'  Cranes  is  mad  for  bein'  in 
such  a  hurry  t'  get  in.  They  paid  pap  th'  money  last 
night,  an'  made  'im  promise  t'  give  possession  'fore  t'- 
morrow  night.  Three  hundred  dollars!  Th'  old  woman 
took  it  out  of  'er  stockin'." 

"Three  hundred  dollars!"  Lizzie  Farnshaw  repeated, 


14  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

whirling  her  horse  about  suddenly  at  the  mention  of  a 
sum  of  money  which  ran  into  hundreds.  She  looked  at 
the  boy  enviously.  She  was  but  fourteen,  and  did  not 
realize  that  more  than  three  hundred  acres  of  fertile  land 
had  been  exchanged  for  the  sum.  Her  spirits  rose  as  they 
turned  to  follow  the  cattle  again.  Perhaps,  as  Luther 
had  said,  they  would  have  to  sell  out  also.  The  dream  of 
going  East  absorbed  her  once  more.  As  she  dreamed, 
however,  a  shrewd  eye  was  kept  on  the  cattle.  As  nearly 
as  possible  she  lived  up  to  the  trust  reposed  in  her.  Quick 
to  serve,  sensitive,  honest,  dependable  as  she  was,  these 
cattle  constituted  the  point  of  contact  between  the  de- 
veloping girl  and  her  developing  philosophy  of  life.  Duty 
pointed  sternly  to  the  undesired  task,  and  duty  was  writ 
large  on  the  pages  of  Lizzie  Farnshaw's  monotonous  life. 
Her  hands  and  face  had  browned  thickly  at  its  bidding, 
but  though,  as  she  had  remarked  a  couple  of  hours  before, 
she  should  crack  like  the  sunbaked  earth  beneath  her  feet, 
she  would  not  fail  in  her  obligation  to  keep  the  cattle  out 
of  other  men's  fields,  and  her  father  out  of  the  primitive 
courts  where  damages  could  be  assessed.  Poverty  she 
had  always  known,  but  now  they  were  threatened  with  a 
new  and  more  dreadful  form  of  it  than  any  hitherto  en- 
countered, a  fact  of  which  courts  took  no  cognizance. 
Hope  and  fear  alternated  in  her  heart  as  she  rode  along, 
but  for  the  most  part  the  young  life  in  her  clung  to  the 
idea  of  the  Eastern  trip.  Hope  springs  eternal  in  the 
child  heart.  Perhaps  after  all  they  would  have  to  leave 
Kansas,  as  Luther  had  said.  If  only .  In  spite  of 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  15 

the  arguments  of  good  sense  she  clung  to  the  idea.  She 
was  glad  Luther  was  there.  In  her  simple  way  she  had 
told  her  plans,  her  hopes,  and  her  fears  to  Luther's  willing 
ears  ever  since  she  had  known  him:  she  did  so  now.  A 
Maggie  Tulliver  in  her  own  family,  Luther  was  the  one 
compensating  feature  of  her  life.  Luther  not  only  under- 
stood but  was  interested.  His  tallow-candle  face  and 
faded  hair  were  those  of  the  —  in  that  country  —  much 
despised  Swede,  but  the  child  saw  the  gentle  spirit  shining 
out  of  his  kindly  blue  eyes.  Luther  was  her  oracle,  and 
she  quoted  his  words  so  often  at  home  that  it  was  a  family 
joke. 

Luther  Hansen  was  the  only  preacher  to  whom  Lizzie 
Farnshaw  ever  listened.  Her  Sundays  had  been  spent  on 
the  prairies  from  choice.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  mourned  over 
what  she  considered  her  daughter's  unregenerate  condi- 
tion, but  Mr.  Farnshaw  was  quite  willing  that  the  child 
should  herd  the  cattle  if  she  preferred  it  to  spending  an 
hour  at  "meetin'."  Luther,  who  also  until  this  year  had 
herded  his  father's  cattle  and  who  usually  spent  the  long 
days  with  the  girl,  had  quaint  ways  of  looking  at  religious 
questions  which  was  a  never-ending  source  of  delight  and 
interest  to  her.  Their  problems  at  home  as  well  as  at 
school  were  subjects  of  common  discussion.  He  had  been 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  her  social  life.  Now  she 
took  him  into  hec  dream  of  going  away,  and  discussed  her 
ideas  of  the  best  way  of  disposing  of  the  stock  by  sale  or 
gift,  the  sort  of  home  she  would  have  with  her  grand- 
parents, and  pictured,  with  a  vivid  imagination,  the  woods 


16  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

and  streams  she  had  heard  her  father  describe.  If  she 
only  could  go!  They  stopped  at  every  field  to  watch  the 
voracious  insects,  which  were  eating  every  green  thing 
upon  which  they  happened  to  alight.  A  turnip  patch  on 
the  corner  of  the  Farnshaw  place  which  had  been  strag- 
gling, but  green,  when  the  cattle  had  passed  through  it 
that  afternoon,  had  not  a  leaf  to  show  as  they  returned. 
The  ground  was  dotted  all  over  the  patch  with  small  holes 
where  the  hungry  swarms,  not  satisfied  with  the  tops,  had 
followed  the  stems  down  into  the  earth,  eating  out  the 
bulbs  to  the  very  taproots. 

They  drove  the  cattle  across  to  the  usual  feeding  place, 
but  the  grasshoppers  flew  up  in  continuous  clouds  before 
every  moving  object,  and  it  was  impossible  for  them  to 
eat. 

"Why  don't  you  take  them  in  and  shut  them  up?" 
Luther  asked  when  he  saw  that  the  herd  was  so  restless 
that  the  child  could  not  manage  them  alone. 

"Pa  wouldn't  let  me,"  she  sighed,  and  continued 
to  ride  around  her  charges. 

Luther  had  intended  going  home  long  before  this,  but 
he  knew  that  Lizzie  could  not  control  the  restless  cattle, 
and  so  he  stayed  with  her,  rather  glad  of  the  excuse 
to  do  so.  Josiah  Farnshaw's  temper  was  a  matter 
of  neighbourhood  knowledge.  A  word  of  explanation 
to  his  father,  Luther  knew,  would  be  all  that  he 
would  need  to  make  the  fact  of  his  absence 
commendable.  He  was  glad  of  any  excuse  which  would 
leave  him  with  Lizzie  Farnshaw  for  an  extra  hour,  but  he 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  17 

was  to  find  that  hour  disappointing,  for  the  cattle  were 
restless  and  kept  them  both  in  constant  motion. 

When  at  last  the  time  came  to  corral  the  stock  a  new 
calamity  was  discovered.  The  cattle  wandered  into  the 
edge  of  a  field  of  flax  as  they  neared  the  barn.  Luther, 
following  them,  dropped  from  the  back  of  his  pony  and 
stopped  to  examine  the  grain.  The  girl  was  excitedly  get- 
ting the  straying  animals  crowded  on  toward  the  pens  and 
it  was  not  till  she  had  the  gate  shut  fast  on  them  that  she 
could  take  time  to  join  him. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  as  she  rode  up. 

The  lanky  boy,  who  was  really  a  man,  measured  the 
field  slowly  with  his  eye,  calculating  the  damage  before  he 
answered  slowly: 

"Kicked  it  out  o'  th'  pods  flyin'  through.  Must  V 
been  twenty  acres.  What  made  you  let  it  get  s'  ripe  for? 
It  ought  t'  been  cut  three  days  ago,  anyhow." 

The  girl  was  out  of  her  saddle  in  an  instant.  She  walked 
into  the  body  of  the  field  somewhat,  her  face  quivering 
pitifully  as  she  examined  the  grain  for  herself.  It  was 
only  too  true!  The  beautiful  brown  seeds  carpeted  the 
earth  around  the  roots  of  the  flax,  but  no  amount  of  har- 
vesting would  ever  gather  so  much  as  a  handful.  The 
crop  was  a  total  loss. 

"Poor  ma!"  she  cried,  when  convinced  beyond  a  doubt 
of  the  empty  bolls.  With  the  eyes  of  the  prematurely  old, 
she  saw  the  extent  of  the  ruin,  and  she  knew  what  would 
be  its  effect  upon  the  mother  who  seldom  knew  joy. 

The  loss  of  the  turnips  had  seemed  bad  enough,  but 


1 8    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

while  watching  the  green  things  about  her  disappear  it 
had  not  occurred  to  the  child  that  the  grasshoppers  would 
eat  the  dry  and,  as  Luther  had  said,  overripe  stems  of  the 
flax.  Still  less  had  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  insignificant 
wings  and  feet  of  such  small  things  could  do  damage  to  an 
entire  field  by  merely  flying  through  it. 

That  flax  was  of  paramount  importance  in  the  family 
calculations  just  now.  In  her  considerations  of  the  pros- 
pective move  to  the  East,  the  price  of  this  flax  had  figured 
largely.  Family  discussions  had  centred  about  that  field 
for  weeks.  It  was  the  one  definite  starting  point  in  the 
bickerings  about  their  weak  and  indefinite  plans  for  the 
future.  The  loss  of  every  other  family  asset  could  not 
have  undone  the  child's  faith  in  the  ultimate  good  of 
things  so  overwhelmingly.  She  choked  back  a  sob  as  she 
mounted  her  horse  again. 

"Poor  ma!"  she  repeated.  "Pa  told  her  she  could 
have  the  money  from  the  flax  to  go  and  see  grandma  on. 
You  know  grandma's  old,  and  they  think  she  can't  live 
through  the  winter.  That's  one  reason  why  I  was  so  glad 
when  I  thought  we  were  going  to  have  to  go  East  to  live. 
She  don't  hardly  know  her  own  children  any  more.  I 
hope  ma  don't  know  about  the  flax;  she'll  be  sure  to  have 
one  of  her  spells,  and  she's  just  got  over  one.  Ain't  it 
awful?" 

Luther  feared  she  was  going  to  cry,  and,  man  fashion, 
prepared  to  flee. 

"I've  got  t'  go,  Lizzie,"  he  said,  and  awkwardly  held 
out  his  hand. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  19 

All  thought  of  the  flax  disappeared  from  the  girl's  mind. 

"Oh,  Luther!"  she  exclaimed  in  new  distress,  "won't  I 
ever  see  you  again  ? " 

The  thought  was  so  overwhelming  that  her  tears  came 
now  from  quite  a  different  cause,  and  the  frank  eyes 
threatened  to  overflow  as  she  stood  clasping  his  bony  hand 
in  hers  insistently.  "What  will  I  do  without  you?"  she 
sobbed. 

The  unexpected  question  and  the  unexpected  tears  had 
an  uncomfortable  effect  on  the  boy.  He  grew  suddenly 
embarrassed  and  drew  his  hand  away. 

Some  indefinable  thing  about  the  action  made  her 
conscious  that  there  was  a  change  in  his  feelings.  It 
checked  her  rising  emotions  and  made  her  curious.  What 
was  he  embarrassed  about?  The  girl  stole  a  look  at  him, 
which  left  him  still  more  disturbed  and  uneasy.  It  was 
an  intangible  thing  upon  which  she  could  not  remark  and 
yet  could  not  fail  to  recognize.  Luther  had  never  been 
awkward  in  her  presence  before.  Their  association  had 
been  of  the  most  offhand  and  informal  character.  As  a 
boy  of  fifteen  he  had  carried  her,  a  girl  of  eleven,  over 
many  a  snowbank  their  first  winter  of  school  in  the  Prairie 
Home  school  district.  They  had  herded  cattle  together, 
waded  the  shallow  ponds  and  hunted  for  mussel  shells, 
and  until  this  year  they  had  seen  each  other  daily.  This 
year  Luther  had  taken  a  man's  place  in  the  fields  and  the 
girl  had  seen  him  at  rare  intervals.  She  was  not  conscious 
of  the  change  which  this  year  of  dawning  adolescence  had 
brought  to  them  both.  Luther  had  developed  a  growing 


20          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

need  of  a  razor  on  his  thin,  yellow  face,  while  she,  four 
years  younger,  had  also  matured.  The  outgrown  calico 
dress  she  wore  was  now  halfway  to  her  knees,  its  sleeves 
exposed  some  inches  of  sunburned  wrists,  and  the  scanty 
waist  disclosed  a  rapidly  rounding  form.  Young  woman- 
hood was  upon  her,  unknown  to  her,  and  but  now  dis- 
covered by  Luther  Hansen.  For  the  first  time  Luther 
felt  the  hesitancy  of  a  youth  in  the  presence  of  a  maid. 

"I  shall  miss  you  so!"  the  girl  said,  looking  at  him, 
puzzled  by  the  indefinable  something  in  his  manner  which 
was  a  new  element  in  their  communications. 

Her  frank  curiosity  put  the  boy  utterly  to  rout.  The 
blood  surged  to  his  pale  face  and  pounded  in  the  veins 
under  his  ears,  half  choking  him;  it  cut  short  the  leave- 
taking  and  left  the  child  bewildered  and  half  hurt. 

She  watched  the  calico  pony  lope  away  in  a  cloud  of 
scurrying  grasshoppers  and  wondered  in  a  childlike  way 
what  could  have  happened.  This  abrupt  and  confused 
departure  increased  the  loneliness  she  felt.  He  was  her 
one  real  friend,  and  her  tears  came  again  as  she  turned 
toward  the  house. 

There  was  little  time  given  the  child  to  indulge  her 
feelings,  or  to  speculate  upon  a  friend's  confusion  or  adieus, 
for  a  sharp  voice  summoned  her  to  the  house  and  fresh 
duties. 

"When  I  call  you  I  want  you  to  step  spry,"  was  the 
greeting  the  child  received  from  the  stooped  figure  putting 
the  potatoes  over  the  fire  to  fry,  as  she  entered  the  door. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  her  head  tied  up  in  a  white  cloth; 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          21 

"the  spell"  had  arrived.  It  was  no  time  to  tell  of  the  loss 
of  the  flax,  and  Luther's  going  was  not  mentioned,  because 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  shared  the  public  contempt  for  his  nation- 
ality and  had  failed  to  get  her  daughter's  confidence  in 
that  quarter. 

"Here,  set  this  table  for  me;  I'm  clear  done  out.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  such  a  crazy  thing  as  all  them  hoppers 
comin'  down  like  bees?  Your  pa's  gone  over  to  Hansen's 
t'  see  what  he  thinks.  Looks  's  if  we'd  be  harder  up  'n 
ever,  an'  I  thought  I'd  done  'bout  all  th'  savin'  a  woman 
could  do  a'ready.  I'm  goin'  t'  get  right  off  t'  mother's 
soon's  ever  we  can  sell  that  flax.  If  I  don't,  we'll  be  havin* 
t'  use  th'  money  for  feed." 

Her  daughter  made  no  reply.  It  was  no  time,  when  her 
mother  was  having  one  of  her  periodical  sick-headaches, 
to  let  it  be  known  that  there  was  no  flax  to  sell.  That  flax 
had  been  one  long  series  of  troublesome  worries,  to  which 
the  total  loss  was  a  fittingly  tragic  end.  The  restless 
grasshoppers  outside  were  forgotten. 

Some  weeks  before,  Mr.  Farnshaw  had  given  a  grudging 
consent  to  the  use  of  the  proceeds  from  the  flax  crop  for  a 
trip'  to  his  wife's  old  home  while  her  mother  yet  lived. 
Josiah  Farnshaw's  temper  was  an  uncertain  quantity. 
Had  Mrs. Farnshaw  been  wise  she  would  have  dropped  all 
reference  to  the  flax  when  the  promise  was  obtained.  But 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  to  talk;  it  was  her  fate.  She  had 
hovered  about  the  field,  she  had  centred  her  faculties  on 
the  considerations  of  harvesting,  and  prices.  She  labor- 
iously and  obviously  collected  eggs,  skimped  the  family 


22    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

on  its  supply  of  butter,  and  had  counted  her  chickens  to 
see  how  many  she  could  sacrifice  for  the  purchase  of  "a 
decent  bit  of  black." 

As  she  sewed  upon  the  premature  emblems  of  her  coming 
woe,  she  had  discussed  the  desirability  of  threshing  out  of 
the  shock  instead  of  waiting  for  the  stack  to  go  through 
the  sweating  process;  she  talked,  talked,  talked,  with  an 
endless  clacking,  till  her  husband  fled  from  her  presence  or 
cut  her  short  with  an  oath.  He  wished  he  had  never 
planted  flax,  he  wished  he  had  never  heard  of  it,  he  wished 
—  he  hardly  knew  what  he  did  wish,  but  he  was  sick  of 
flax. 

Crops  of  all  sorts  were  shortened  by  continued  drought; 
corn  would  be  an  utter  failure.  He  had  given  notes  for  a 
new  harvester  and  other  machinery  while  the  prospects 
for  crops  were  good,  and  the  knowledge  that  implement 
dealers  would  collect  those  notes  whether  the  yield  of 
grain  was  equal  to  their  demands  or  not  tightened  the  set 
lines  about  his  naturally  stern  mouth  and  irritated  a 
temper  never  good  at  the  best.  Daily  he  became  more 
obstinate  and  unapproachable. 

Josiah  Farnshaw  was  not  only  obstinate,  he  was  surly. 
Nothing  could  induce  him  to  show  any  interest  in  the 
flax  field  after  he  found  that  his  wife  was  looking  out  for 
its  advantages.  If  she  suggested  that  they  go  to  examine 
it,  he  was  instantly  busy.  If  she  asked  when  he  intended 
to  begin  the  cutting,  he  was  elaborately  indifferent  and 
replied,  "When  its  ripe;  there's  plenty  of  time."  When 
at  last  the  field  showed  a  decided  tendency  to  brown,  he 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  23 

helped  a  neighbour  instead  of  beginning  on  Friday,  as  his 
wife  urged.  Saturday  he  found  something  wrong  with 
the  binder.  By  Saturday  night  he  began  to  see  that  the 
grain  was  ripening  fast.  He  was  warned  and  was  ready 
to  actually  start  the  machine  early  the  next  day.  His 
grizzled  face  concealed  the  grin  it  harboured  at  the  idea 
of  running  the  harvester  on  Sunday;  he  knew  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw's  scruples.  The  flax  had  ripened,  almost  overnight, 
because  of  the  extreme  heat.  Torn  with  anxiety  and  the 
certain  knowledge  that  haste  was  necessary,  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw  quoted  scripture  and  hesitated.  Her  husband,  who 
had  delayed  in  all  possible  ways  up  to  this  time,  and  had 
refused  to  listen  to  her  advice,  became  suddenly  anxious 
to  do  "that  cuttin'."  Now  that  his  wife  hesitated  from 
principle,  he  was  intensely  anxious  to  move  contrary  to 
her  scruples. 

The  knowledge  that  her  husband  was  enjoying  her 
indecision,  and  that  he  was  grimly  thinking  that  her  re- 
ligious scruples  would  not  stand  the  test,  made  her  even 
less  able  to  decide  a  question  than  usual. 

The  game  was  getting  exciting  and  he  let  her  argue, 
urging  with  pretended  indifference  that,  "That  flax's 
dead  ripe  now  an'  if  it  shatters  out  on  th'  ground  you  kin 
blame  yourself,"  adding  with  grim  humour,  "There's 
nothin'  like  th'  sound  of  money  t'  bring  folks  t'  their 
senses.  It's  good  as  a  pinch  of  pepper  under  th'  nose  of  a 
bulldog." 

There  was  everything  to  point  that  way,  but  a  woman 
and  a  mother  must  vindicate  her  claims  to  religion,  and 


24          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  refused  to  give  her  consent  to  the  Sunday 
harvesting. 

Torn  between  her  desire  to  save  every  grain  of  the  pre- 
cious crop  and  the  fear  of  a  hell  that  burned  with  fire  and 
brimstone,  her  husband's  scorn  did  what  neither  had  been 
able  to  do.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  forbade  the  machine  being 
taken  to  the  field,  and  then  cried  herself  into  a  headache. 

"Do  as  you  please;  it's  your  lookout,  but  I  tell  you  it'll 
be  a  sick  lookin'  field  by  to-morrow  mornin',"  was  Mr. 
Farnshaw's  final  shot. 

When  her  decision  was  finally  reached,  Mr.  Farnshaw 
became  alarmed.  He  knew  he  had  let  the  flax  go  too  long 
uncut.  He  had  half  believed  in  the  reasons  he  had  given 
for  delay  up  to  this  point,  but  suddenly  realizing  that  the 
overripe  grain  would  suffer  great  loss  if  left  another  day 
in  the  hot  sun,  he  reasoned  with  real  earnestness  that  it 
must  be  cut  if  it  were  to  be  saved.  His  wife,  thoroughly 
convinced  that  he  was  still  tormenting  her  and  that  he 
would  never  let  her  hear  the  last  of  the  matter  if  she  gave 
up,  closed  her  lips  down  firmly  and  declined  to  allow  it  to 
be  done. 

All  this  the  child  had  heard  argued  out  that  morning. 
It  was  a  cruel  position  in  which  to  place  one  of  her  years. 
Part  of  it  she  had  comprehended,  part  had  escaped 
her,  but  she  was  sensitive  to  the  atmosphere  of  suffering. 
The  details  of  past  elements  in  the  tragedy  she  could  not 
be  expected  to  understand.  The  stunted,  barren  life  of 
her  mother  was  but  half  guessed.  What  child  could 
know  of  the  heartsick  longing  for  affection  and  a  but 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  25 

little  understood  freedom,  the  daily  coercion,  the  refusal 
of  her  husband  to  speak  kindly  or  to  meet  her  eye  with  a 
smile? 

The  sorely  puzzled  and  bewildered  woman  thought  affec- 
tion was  withheld  from  her  because  of  something  done 
or  undone,  and  strove  blindly  to  achieve  it  by  acts,  not 
knowing  that  acts  have  little,  if  anything,  to  do  with 
affection.  She  strove  daily  to  win  love,  not  knowing  that 
love  is  a  thing  outside  the  power  to  win  or  bestow.  Had 
she  had  understanding  she  would  have  spared  the  child 
with  whom  she  worked;  instead,  she  talked  on  with  her 
dreary  whine,  morbidly  seeking  a  sympathy  of  which  she  did 
not  know  how  to  avail  herself  when  it  was  so  plainly  hers. 

With  a  lump  in  her  throat  of  which  the  mother  did  not 
even  suspect,  Lizzie  Farnshaw  set  the  table,  cut  the  bread, 
brought  the  water,  "put  up  the  chairs,"  and,  when  her 
father  came  from  the  stable,  slipped  out  to  where  he  was 
washing  for  supper  and  whispered  about  the  flax,  asking 
him  not  to  mention  it  while  her  mother  was  suffering  with 
the  headache. 

The  news  was  not  news  to  Josiah  Farnshaw,  who  had 
examined  the  field  anxiously  as  he  had  returned  from 
Hansen's.  Sobered  by  the  loss,  he  was  less  disagreeable 
than  usual  and  only  pushed  his  daughter  out  of  his  way 
as  he  reached  around  her  for  the  sun-cracked  bar  of  yellow 
laundry  soap  with  which  to  wash  his  hands.  Thankful 
to  have  the  unpleasant  but  important  matter,  as  she 
thought,  safely  attended  to,  the  child  returned  to  help  lift 
the  meal  to  the  bare  kitchen  table. 


26          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  illy  lighted  room,  with  its  one  small  window,  was 
dim  and  dismal  in  the  dusk  of  evening.  In  spite  of  the 
added  heat  it  would  produce,  the  child  decided  that  a 
light  was  necessary. 

After  the  kerosene  lamp  was  lighted,  she  turned  to  see 
if  her  mother  needed  her  help  again.  The  crooked  blaze 
ran  up  unexpectedly  and  blacked  the  cracked  chimney  on 
one  side  with  a  soot  so  thick  that  one  half  of  the  room  was 
soon  in  semi-darkness.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  took  it  fretfully 
in  hand. 

"Why  can't  you  trim  it  when  you  see  it  runnin'  up  that 
way?"  she  demanded  querulously,  poking  at  the  lopsided 
and  deeply  charred  wick  with  a  sliver  obtained  from  the 
side  of  the  wood-box. 

Her  ministrations  were  not  very  successful,  however, 
for  when  the  chimney  was  replaced  it  ran  up  on  the  other 
side,  and  in  the  end  her  daughter  had  to  prosecute  a  search 
for  the  scissors  and  cut  the  wick  properly.  As  they  worked 
over  the  ill-smelling  light,  Albert,  the  youngest  of  the  three 
children  of  the  household,  burst  into  the  kitchen  crying 
excitedly: 

"Ma,  did  you  know  that  th'  flax  was  all  whipped  out  of 
th'  pods  on  to  the  ground  ? " 

Mrs.  Farnshaw,  who  had  received  the  lamp  from  her 
daughter's  hand,  let  it  fall  on  the  edge  of  an  upturned  plate 
in  her  excitement,  and  then,  seeing  what  she  had  done, 
fumbled  blindly  in  a  terrified  effort  to  right  it  before 
it  should  go  over.  The  cracked  chimney  fell  from  its 
moorings,  and,  striking  a  teacup,  spattered  brokeri  glass 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          27 

over  the  table  like  hailstones.  The  entire  family  scram- 
bled to  save  the  lamp  itself  from  a  similar  fate  and  were 
plunged  into  darkness  by  the  girl  blowing  out  its  flame  to 
save  an  explosion. 

The  excitement  of  the  moment  served,  temporarily,  to 
lessen  the  blow  of  Albert's  announcement,  but  by  the 
time  "a  dip"  had  been  constructed  the  full  weight  of  the 
disaster  had  fallen  upon  the  defeated  and  despairing 
woman,  and  to  protect  her  from  the  taunts  of  the  head  of 
the  house,  Lizzie  induced  her  to  go  to  bed,  where  she 
sobbed  throughout  the  night. 

The  next  day  was  hot  and  windy.  The  grasshoppers, 
unable  to  fly  in  a  strong  wind,  clung  to  the  weeds,  to  the 
dry  grass,  the  stripped  branches  of  the  half-grown  trees, 
to  the  cattle  and  hogs  upon  which  they  happened  to 
alight,  and  even  to  people  themselves,  unless  brushed  off. 

Lizzie  took  the  cattle  out  to  the  usual  grazing  ground, 
but  there  was  no  Luther  to  help,  and  the  grasshoppers 
made  the  lives  of  the  restless  animals  so  unendurable  that 
in  real  alarm,  lest  they  run  away  again,  she  took  them 
home,  preferring  her  father's  wrath  to  the  experience  of 
getting  them  back  if  they  should  get  beyond  her  control. 
Fortune  favoured  her.  Unable  to  endure  the  demon- 
strations of  grief  at  home,  her  father  had  taken  himself 
to  a  distant  neighbour's  to  discuss  the  "plague  of  locusts.'* 

The  wind  blew  a  gale  throughout  the  day,  sweeping 
remorselessly  over  the  unobstructed  hillsides.  Unable 
to  fly,  the  helpless  insects  hugged  the  earth  while  the  gale 
tore  over  the  Kansas  prairies  with  a  fearful  velocity. 


28          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

With  feminine  instinct,  every  female  grasshopper  bur- 
rowed into  the  dry  earth,  making  a  hole  which  would  re- 
ceive almost  her  entire  body  back  of  her  wings  and  legs. 
The  spring  sod,  half  rotted  and  loosened  from  the  grass 
roots,  furnished  the  best  lodgment.  In  each  hole,  as  deep 
down  as  her  body  could  reach,  her  pouch  of  eggs  was 
deposited. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  cover  the  hole,  and  by  night 
the  sod  presented  a  honeycombed  appearance  never  be- 
fore seen  by  the  oldest  settlers.  Having  performed 
nature's  functions,  and  provided  for  the  propagation  of 
their  kind,  the  lately  fecund  grasshoppers  were  hungry 
when  the  act  was  over.  Not  a  spear  of  anything  green 
was  left.  The  travel-worn  horde  had  devoured  every- 
thing in  sight  the  day  before.  Evening  closed  in  upon  a 
restless  and  excited  swarm  of  starving  insects,  but  they 
were  unable  to  fly  at  night  or  while  the  wind  was  blowing. 

It  was  necessary  to  find  food;  hunger's  pangs  may  not 
be  suffered  long  by  creatures  whose  active  life  is  numbered 
in  weeks.  The  high  wind  had  cooled  the  air  and  made 
the  locusts  stupid  and  sleepy,  but  when  the  next  morning 
the  wind  had  fallen,  and  the  sun  had  warmed  their  bodies, 
as  fast  as  they  were  able  all  were  on  the  wing,  headed  for 
the  north.  The  air  was  calm,  and  by  ten  o'clock  they 
were  away  in  swarms,  leaving  ruin  and  desolation  to  show 
that  they  had  sojourned  in  the  land. 

The  situation  was  truly  desperate.  Cattle,  horses,  and 
hogs  were  without  food  of  any  sort.  Many  families  were 
new  to  the  country  and  had  depended  upon  sod-corn  for 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  29 

* 

the  winter's  supply  of  provender  for  both  man  and  beast. 
Mr.  Farnshaw,  being  one  of  the  older  residents,  had 
grown  a  crop  of  wheat,  so  that  his  bread  was  assured; 
but  the  herd  of  cattle  which  had  been  his  delight  was  now 
a  terrorizing  burden.  Cattle  and  horses  could  not  live 
on  wheat,  and  there  was  no  hay  because  of  the  dry  weather. 
What  was  to  be  done? 

That  night  the  neighbours  held  a  consultation  at  the 
Farnshaw  house,  where  grizzled  and  despairing  men  dis- 
cussed the  advisability  of  "goin'  East,"  and  ways  and 
means  of  getting  there.  The  verdict  was  strongly  in  fa- 
vour of  going. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  brightened.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she 
would  get  away  from  these  wind-blown  prairies,  where  no 
shade  offered  its  protecting  presence  against  a  sun  which 
took  life  and  spirits  out  of  the  pluckiest  of  them.  Even 
more  childish  than  the  daughter  at  her  side,  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw clapped  her  hands  with  joy  as  she  leaned  forward 
expectantly  to  address  her  new  neighbour. 

"If  I  can  only  get  t'  my  mother's,  I  won't  care  for 
nothin'  after  that.  My  heart  goes  out  t'  Mrs.  Crane. 
Think  of  all  that  good  money  goin'  t'  them  Swedes !  You 
just  better  pocket  your  loss  an'  get  away  while  you  can." 

"You're  goin'  too,  then,  Farnshaw?"  the  new  neighbour 
asked. 

All  eyes  turned  upon  Mr.  Farnshaw,  who  had  not  as 
yet  expressed  himself  on  either  side.  These  neighbours 
had  asked  to  assemble  in  his  house  because  his  kitchen  af- 
forded more  room  than  any  other  house  in  the  vicinity, 


30          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  kitchen  being  a  large  room  with  no  beds  in  it  to  take 
up  floor  space. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  realized  as  soon  as  the  question  was 
asked  that  her  joy  had  been  premature . 

Josiah  Farnshaw  sat  with  his  chair  tilted  back  on  two 
legs  against  the  wall,  snapping  the  blade  of  his  pocket 
knife  back  and  forth  as  he  considered  what  he  was  going 
to  say  in  reply.  He  felt  all  eyes  turned  in  his  direction 
and  quite  enjoyed  the  suspense.  Mr.  Farnshaw  was  an 
artist  in  calculating  the  suspense  of  others.  He  gave 
them  plenty  of  time  to  get  their  perspective  before  he 
replied.  At  last  he  shut  the  blade  of  the  knife  down 
ostentatiously,  replaced  it  in  his  trousers'  pocket,  and 
announced  slowly: 

"Well,  sir,  as  for  me  and  mine,  I  think  we'll  stay  right 
here." 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  gave  a  despairing,  "Oh!"  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  to  strangle  back  her  tears.  Her 
one  hope  had  been  that  poverty  would  accomplish  what 
the  flax  had  failed  to  do. 

"Why  —  I  thought  you  said  there'd  be  nothin'  t'  feed 
an'  you'd  have  t',"  said  a  man  whose  shaggy  whiskers 
had  not  seen  a  comb  that  year.  "What'll  you  do? 
You  can't  see  things  starve!" 

"I  thought  you  was  strong  for  goin'.  What'll  you  do 
with  all  your  stock?"  another  said,  and  all  bent  forward 
and  waited  for  his  answer  as  if  he  could  find  a  way  out  of 
the  tangle  for  them. 

"That's  just  it."     Again  he  paused,  enjoying  the  sus- 


pense  that  his  silence  created.  Mr.  Farnshaw  was  not 
popular,  but  he  had  more  stock  than  all  his  simple  neigh- 
bours put  together  and  was  conscious  that  money,  or  its 
equivalent,  had  weight.  "That's  just  it,"  he  repeated 
to  add  emphasis  to  his  opinion.  "What  is  a  man  to  do? 
You  folks  that  have  nothin'  but  your  teams  an'  wagons 
can  load  th'  family  in  an'  get  away.  How'd  I  feel  'bout 
th'  time  that  I  got  t'  th'  Missouri  River  if  I  knowed  all 
them  hogs  an'  cattle  was  layin'  around  here  too  weak  t' 
get  up  cause  they  hadn't  been  fed?" 

He  dropped  his  argument  into  the  midst  of  them  and 
then  sat  back  and  enjoyed  its  effect.  He  had  intended 
to  go  till  ten  minutes  previous.  The  argument  sounded 
good  to  him  now,  however.  It  put  him  on  a  higher  basis 
with  himself,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  had  only  popped 
into  his  head  while  he  was  clicking  his  knife  blade.  He  con- 
ceived a  new  liking  for  himself.  "No,  sir,"  he  continued; 
"I'll  stay  by  it." 

"I  don't  see  as  your  stayin'  helps  anything  if  you  ain't 
got  nothin' t'  feed,"  was  the  reiterated  objection. 

"Well,"  Mr.  Farnshaw  replied,  careful  not  to  look  in 
his  wife's  direction,  "I  was  for  goin'  at  first,  but  I've 
listened  t'  you  folks  an'  I've  come  t'  th'  conclusion  that 
you  ain't  goin'  t'  better  yourselves  any.  If  you  go  East, 
you'll  have  t'  come  back  here  in  th'  spring,  or  live  on  day's 
work  there  — -  an'  —  an'  I'll  take  my  chances  right  here. 
It's  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turn.  Grasshoppers  can't  stay 
always." 

"What'll  you  do  if  all  them  eggs  hatch  out  an'  eat  th' 


32    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

crops  in  th'  spring?"  the  new  neighbour  asked,  determined 
to  look  on  all  sides  of  the  question  before  he  decided  to  give 
up  his  recently  purchased  farm,  and  glad  of  this  oppor- 
tunity to  get  the  opinions  of  his  fellow  sufferers  on  that 
particular  phase  of  his  unexpected  calamity.  "What'll 
you  do  with  all  that  bunch  of  cattle,  anyhow?"  he  added. 

"I'll  share  what  I've  got  with  th'  stuff,  an'  if  part  of  it 
dies  I'll  drag  it  out  on  th'  hill  t'  rot;  th'  rest  I'll  stay  by," 
was  the  stubborn  reply.  "As  for  them  eggs  a-hatchin', 
they'll  be  good  ones  if  they  can  stand  a  Kansas  winter; 
they'll  do  a  blamed  sight  better'n  any  eggs  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw  gethers  in.  They'd  better  go  south." 

This  raised  a  laugh.  The  grim  humour  of  anything, 
that  could  get  away,  spending  a  winter  in  Kansas,  ap- 
pealed to  these  grizzly  pioneers,  who  struggled  with  the 
question  of  fuel  in  a  country  where  there  was  little  natural 
timber,  and  coal  must  be  paid  for  before  it  was  burned. 
But  all  their  arguments  would  not  turn  him  from  his 
course. 

"Your  wife's  tumble  set  on  goin',  Farnshaw,"  one  of 
the  men  said  to  him  as  they  went  to  the  stable  for  their 
horses  when  the  meeting  broke  up. 

"Women's  always  wantin'  things,"  was  the  indifferent 
reply.  "  Say,  you've  got  a  stack  of  wheat  straw.  What'll 
you  take  for  it?" 

In  the  house  the  sympathetic  daughter  helped  her 
mother  prepare  for  bed. 

"I  thought  sure  to-night  we'd  get  to  go,"  the  child  said. 
"If  you  could  get  back  East  you  might  get  to  stay;  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          33 

then  you  wouldn't  have  to  cry  so  much,"  she  added  as  she 
picked  up  the  abandoned  clothing  her  mother  had  left 
lying  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw,  who  was  turning  the  same  matter  over 
disconsolately  as  she  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  shook  her 
head  with  the  bitter  certainty  that  her  fate  would  pursue 
her,  and  replied  hopelessly: 

"It  wouldn't  make  no  difference,  I  guess,  Lizzie.  He'd 
be  there,  an'  it'd  be  just  the  same." 

And  the  girl,  who  was  naturally  reflective,  carried  with 
her  to  the  loft  overhead  that  night  a  new  idea:  that  it 
was  not  the  place,  but  the  manner  in  which  lives  were 
lived,  which  mattered. 

The  preparations  for  the  coming  of  that  winter  were 
the  strangest  ever  witnessed  in  a  farming  community. 
Never  had  any  man  known  fuel  to  be  so  scarce.  Corn- 
stalks, which  were  usually  staple  articles  for  fuel  in  that 
country,  had  been  eaten  almost  to  the  very  ground,  but 
the  stubs  were  gathered,  the  dirt  shaken  from  them,  and 
they  were  then  carted  to  the  house.  Rosin  weeds  were  col- 
lected and  piled  in  heaps.  The  dried  dung  of  cattle, 
scattered  over  the  grazing  lands,  and  called  "buffalo 
chips,"  was  stored  in  long  ricks,  also,  and  used  sparingly, 
for  even  this  simple  fuel  was  so  scarce  as  to  necessitate 
care  in  its  use. 

To  keep  out  the  driving  winds,  the  houses  were  banked 
with  sods  and  earth  halfway  to  the  roofs.  With  so  little 
material  for  keeping  warm,  and  that  of  the  lightest  variety, 
it  was  necessary  to  make  the  living  quarters  impervious  to 


34    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  never-ceasing  winds  which  tore  at  the  thin  walls  of 
the  unprotected  houses  that  sheltered  such  folk  as  were 
hardy  enough  to  remain. 

It  was  impossible  to  build  sheds  for  all  the  stock,  so 
the  hogs  were  allowed  to  swarm  under  the  feet  of  the  horses 
tied  in  the  straw  stable,  and  many  and  sad  were  the  acci- 
dents to  the  smaller  animals.  It  was  soon  clear  that  not 
many  of  them  could  be  carried  through  till  the  spring. 
Seeing  that  they  lost  weight  rapidly,  as  many  as  were  full 
grown  were  killed  and  their  flabby  carcasses  salted  away 
to  be  eaten. 

Fortunately,  the  grasshoppers  had  not  arrived  in  Kansas 
till  after  the  small  grain  had  been  nearly  all  cut,  so  that 
there  was  considerable  oat  and  wheat  straw  in  the  coun- 
try. Mr.  Farnshaw  bargained  for  every  straw  stack  he 
could  find,  but  straw  was  a  poor  substitute  for  the  corn 
and  hay  to  which  the  cattle  were  accustomed,  and  as  the 
weeks  lengthened  into  months,  and  winter  closed  in,  the 
unprotected  cattle  grew  thinner  and  ever  thinner.  Corn 
was  quoted  in  the  markets  at  a  dollar  a  bushel,  but  in  fact 
was  not  to  be  had  at  any  price.  Iowa  had  had  a  drought, 
and  Illinois  was  the  nearest  base  of  supplies,  and  as  it  was 
generally  known  that  there  was  no  money  west  of  the 
Missouri  River,  no  grain  was  sent  to  Kansas. 

Finding  that  the  horses  did  not  thrive  on  the  straw 
alone,  and  knowing  that  wheat  would  very  quickly  kill 
them,  Mr.  Farnshaw  put  away  a  sufficient  amount  of 
oats  for  seed  and  then  carefully  portioned  out  the  rest  to 
be  fed  to  four  of  his  best  broodmares,  hoping  to  be  able  to 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN     35 

put  in  the  spring  crops  with  them  as  well  as  to  save  the 
coming  colts  of  two.  The  rest,  he  decided,  must  take 
their  chances  on  getting  through  the  winter  alive. 

The  family  food  consisted  largely  of  bread  and  tne 
slabs  of  thin  meat,  with  a  sort  of  coffee  made  from  browned 
rye.  As  a  "company  dish"  there  was  a  scanty  supply  of 
sweet  corn,  dried  before  the  drought  had  cut  the  crop 
short.  There  were  no  eggs,  because  the  chickens  had 
sickened  from  eating  grasshoppers  in  the  fall  and  nearly 
all  had  died.  The  few  hens  which  remained  clung  to 
the  limbs  of  the  half-grown  cottonwood  trees  throughout 
the  long  winter  nights,  and  found  barely  food  enough  dur- 
ing the  day  to  keep  life  in  their  fuzzy  bodies,  which  could 
not  even  furnish  the  oil  necessary  to  lay  their  feathers 
smooth,  much  less  foster  the  growth  of  eggs. 

Josiah  Farnshaw  secretly  questioned  the  propriety  of 
having  remained  in  that  desolate  territory  when,  as  spring 
approached,  the  shrunken  cows  died  one  after  another  in 
giving  birth  to  the  calves  which  had  matured  in  their 
slowly  perishing  bodies,  but  he  made  no  sign  or  admission 
of  the  fact. 

It  was  a  season  of  gloom  such  as  our  frontier  states  had 
never  known,  and  to  add  to  the  general  depression  there 
was  a  growing  conviction  that  the  hatching  of  the  grass- 
hoppers' eggs  when  warm  weather  came  would  complete 
the  famine. 

To  support  nis  action  in  refusing  to  go  East,  Josian 
Farnshaw  asserted  stubbornly  that  the  frost  of  their  hard 
winter  would  certainly  kill  the  larvae  of  the  locusts.  So 


36    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

persistent  was  his  attitude  that  at  short  intervals  through- 
out the  entire  winter  rumours  that  "th'  hopper  eggs  is 
dead  's  doornails"  stirred  the  community  and  set  its 
members  to  making  tests  in  a  vain  endeavour  to  estab- 
lish their  truth.  Pieces  of  earth,  honeycombed  with  the 
tiny  nests,  would  be  placed  near  the  fire  and  kept  at  as 
regular  a  degree  of  warmth  as  possible,  the  condition  of  the 
eggs  would  be  noted  carefully,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
hopes  of  the  anxious  pioneers  would  be  dashed  to  the 
ground  by  wriggling  little  insects  climbing  cheerfully  out 
of  their  winter  quarters  and  hopping  about  in  a  vain  search 
for  something  green  to  live  upon.  Often,  in  sheer  des- 
peration, the  harassed  settler  would  sweep  the  hatching 
brood  into  the  fire,  remarking  as  he  did  so,  "Burnin's  too 
good  for  such  pests,"  and  always  fear  gripped  the  heart. 
If  the  crops  in  spring  were  eaten,  other  homes  must  be 
sought,  and  all  knew  that  the  weakened  horses  were  unfit 
for  travel.  In  fact,  no  team  in  that  entire  country  was  fit 
to  travel  far  or  fast,  except  the  two  which  Mr.  Farnshaw 
groomed  and  fed  so  carefully  for  the  sake  of  the  spring 
work  and  the  much  desired  colts. 

The  depression  and  worries  of  the  Farnshaw  home  in- 
creased the -spirit  of  contention  and  distrust  of  its  guard- 
ians. The  husband  daily  grew  surlier  and  more 
unpleasant  and  the  wife  more  lachrymose  and  subject  to 
"spells."  The  children  learned  to  avoid  the  presence  of 
either  parent  as  much  as  possible,  and  to  look  outside  the 
home  for  the  joy  childhood  demands.  The  chores  were 
heavy  and  difficult,  but  could  at  least  be  performed  in  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN    37 

open  light  of  God's  great  out-of-doors,  where  the  imagina- 
tion could  people  the  world  with  pleasant  features  and 
pleasant  prospects. 

The  cattle  were  driven  daily  to  the  ponds,  half  a  mile 
away,  for  water,  and  if  the  ice  was  thick  and  the  axe- 
handle  benumbing  to  the  mittened  hands  as  they  chopped 
the  holes  for  the  tottering  animals  to  drink  from,  there  was 
the  prospect  of  a  slide  on  the  uncut  portions  of  the  ice 
later;  and  as  the  plucky  youngsters  followed  the  cattle 
home  they  dreamed  of  skates  to  be  obtained  in  the  dim 
future,  and  tried  to  run  fast  enough  to  keep  warm.  The 
blessing  of  childhood  is  that  it  cannot  be  cheated  of  its 
visions,  and  the  blood  of  adolescence  was  coursing  riot- 
ously through  the  veins  of  the  daughter  of  the  Farnshaw 
house.  If  her  hands  were  cold  when  she  returned  to  the 
barnyard,  after  watering  the  cattle,  she  beat  them  about 
her  shoulders  or  held  them  against  the  shrunken  flank  of 
some  dumb  animal,  or  blew  her  breath  through  the  fingers 
of  her  knitted  mittens;  but  her  thoughts  were  of  other 
things. 

It  is  an  old  saying  that  "God  helps  them  who  help 
themselves,"  and  in  the  case  of  Lizzie  Farnshaw  the  axiom 
became  a  living  truth.  While  the  rest  of  her  family  suf- 
fered and  magnified  their  sufferings,  she,  by  a  vivid 
imagination,  placed  herself  in  the  path  of  fortune  and 
obtained  the  thing  she  demanded.  The  simple  country 
schoolhouse  that  year,  dreary  and  cheerless  enough  to 
the  pert  Miss  who  had  come  out  from  Topeka  to  teach 
there,  and  incidentally  to  collect  twenty-five  dollars  a 


38          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

month  from  the  school  board,  was  to  be  the  scene  of  the 
initial  change  in  Lizzie  Farnshaw' s  life. 

Verily,  God  helps  them  who  help  themselves,  and  Lizzie 
Farnshaw  proved  the  old  saw  by  laying  hold  of  and  ab- 
sorbing every  new  idea  and  mannerism  of  which  the  new 
teacher  was  arrogantly  possessed  —  absorbed  them,  but 
transmuted  them,  winnowing  out  the  coarse,  the  sarcastic, 
the  unkind,  and  making  of  what  was  left  a  substance  of 
finer  fibre. 

The  number  of  children  in  the  Prairie  Home  school  that 
year  was  limited  to  five,  the  rest  having  departed  for  the 
indefinable  land  known  as  the  "East."  Three  of  these 
children  came  from  the  Farnshaw  home  and  the  other  two 
from  the  new  neighbours,  the  Cranes,  on  the  Hansen  place. 

Sadie  Crane  hated  the  new  teacher  with  all  the  might 
that  her  pinched  little  twelve-year-old  body  could  bring  to 
bear.  She  saw  only  the  snippish,  opinionated,  young 
peacock,  and  the  self-assurance  which  came  from  the 
empty-headed  ability  to  tie  a  ribbon  well.  She  was  so 
occupied  with  resenting  the  young  teacher's  feeling  of  vast 
superiority  that  she  failed  to  understand,  as  did  the  Farn- 
shaw child,  that  along  with  all  that  vainglorious  assump- 
tion went  a  real  knowledge  of  some  things  with  which  it 
was  valuable  to  become  acquainted. 

To  the  spiteful  Crane  child  the  schoolma'am  was  "stuck- 
up,"  while  to  the  imaginative  daughter  of  the  Farnshaw 
house  she  was  a  bird  of  paradise,  and  though  Lizzie  was 
conscious  that  the  teacher's  voice  was  harsh,  and  her  air 
affected,  the  child  reached  out  like  a  drowning  man  toward 


39 

this  symbol  of  the  life  she  coveted.  To  her  the  new  teacher 
was  a  gift  from  heaven  itself. 

This  young  girl  from  Topeka  brought  into  activity  every 
faculty  the  sensitive,  ambitious  child  possessed. 

Lizzie  Farnshaw  laid  hold,  with  a  strong  hand,  upon 
every  blessing  which  came  in  her  way.  She  knew  that 
the  foppish  young  thing  at  the  teacher's  desk  was  "stuck- 
up,"  but  Lizzie  was  willing  that  she  should  be  whatever  she 
chose,  so  long  as  it  was  possible  to  live  near  her,  to  study 
her,  and  to  become  like  the  best  that  was  in  her. 

The  teacher's  matter-of-fact  assumption  that  no  self- 
respecting  person  failed  to  obtain  a  high-school  education 
was  a  good  thing  for  the  country  girl,  however  overdrawn 
it  might  be.  Lizzie  Farnshaw  listened  and  built  air- 
castles.  To  this  one  child,  out  of  that  entire  community, 
the  idea  appealed  alluringly.  But  for  her  castles  in  Spain 
she  must  have  burst  with  her  unexpressed  desires.  To 
add  fuel  to  the  fires  of  her  fancy,  Mr.  Farnshaw  also  fell 
under  the  fascinations  of  the  school  teacher  and  boasted 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family  that  "Lizzie's  just  as  smart  as 
that  Topeka  girl  any  day,"  and  when  his  daughter  began 
to  talk  hopefully  about  teaching  school  it  appealed  to  the 
father's  pride,  and  he  encouraged  her  dreams.  He  had 
been  the  leading  man  in  the  community  since  coming  to 
Kansas  because  of  the  number  of  cattle  he  had  been  able 
to  accumulate.  A  small  legacy  had  aided  in  that  accumu- 
lation,*and  it  appealed  to  his  pride  to  have  his  daughter's 
intellectual  ambitions  adding  to  the  general  family  im- 
portance. Pride  is  an  important  factor  in  the  lives  of 


40          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

all,  but  to  the  children  of  the  farm  it  is  an  ambrosia, 
which  once  sipped  is  never  forgotten  and  to  obtain 
which  many  strange  sacrifices  will  be  made.  Mr.  Farn- 
shaw  usually  regarded  a  request  from  his  children  as  a 
thing  to  be  denied  promptly,  and  always  as  a  matter  for 
suspicion.  Yet  here  he  was,  considering  soberly,  yea 
pleasurably,  a  move  involving  money,  at  a  time  when 
money  was  more  than  usually  scarce.  His  assent  was 
even  of  such  a  nature  as  to  deceive  both  himself  and  the 
child  into  thinking  that  it  was  being  done  for  her  benefit! 

The  young  girl  received  a  new  impetus  toward  improve- 
ment. The  family  began  to  regard  her  as  a  member  set 
apart,  as  one  from  whom  special  things  were  to  be  ex- 
pected. From  being  just  comfortably  at  the  head  of  her 
classes,  she  became  more  ambitious,  reached  over  into 
new  territory,  and  induced  the  teacher  to  create  new 
classes  for  her  benefit.  The  subjects  required  for  the 
examination  of  teachers  were  added  to  those  usually  car- 
ried. There  was  a  real  purpose  in  her  efforts  now,  and 
the  smoky  kerosene  lamp  burned  stubbornly  till  late 
hours. 

The  new  teacher  not  only  listened  to  recitations  but 
appealed  to  the  artistic  in  the  newly  developing  woman. 
She  rolled  her  hair  from  neck  to  brow  in  a  "French  twist" 
and  set  on  the  top  of  it  an  "Alsatian  bow,"  which  stood 
like  gigantic  butterfly  wings  across  her  proud  head.  The 
long  basque  of  her  school  dress  was  made  after  the  newest 
pattern  and  had  smoke-pearl  buttons,  in  overlapping 
groups  of  three,  set  on  each  side  of  its  vest  front.  The 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          41 

* 

skirt  of  this  wonderful  dress  was  "shirred"  and  hung  in 
graceful  festoons  between  the  rows  of  gatherings,  and  was 
of  an  entirely  new  style.  Last,  but  not  least,  the  teacher's 
feet  were  shod  in  "side  laces,"  the  first  pair  of  a  new  kind 
of  shoes,  destined  to  become  popular,  which  laced  on  the 
inside  of  the  ankle  instead  of  on  the  top  as  we  have  them 
now.  Of  all  her  stylish  attractions  this  was  the  most 
absorbing.  "Fool  shoes,"  Sadie  Crane  called  them,  and 
her  little  black  eyes  twinkled  with  a  consuming  spite  when 
she  mentioned  them,  but  the  ambitious  Farnshaw  child, 
reaching  out  for  improvement  and  change,  coveted  them, 
and  preened  her  own  feathers,  and  mimicked,  and  dreamed. 
She  accepted  the  shoes  just  as  she  accepted  the  teacher's 
other  attributes :  they  were  better  than  her  own. 

To  be  better  than  her  own  —  that  was  the  measure  of 
Lizzie  Farnshaw's  demand.  If  the  shoes,  the  clothing, 
the  manners,  the  ideas,  were  better  than  her  own  they 
were  worthy  of  honest  consideration.  The  teacher's 
tongue  was  sharp  and  her  criticisms  ruthless,  but  they 
had  elements  of  truth  in  them,  and  even  when  they  were 
directed  against  the  child  herself  they  were  a  splendid 
spur.  The  young  girl  copied  her  manners,  her  gait,  and 
her  vocabulary.  She  watched  her  own  conversation  to 
see  that  she  did  not  say  "have  went"  and  "those  kind"  ; 
she  became  observant  of  the  state  of  her  finger-nails;  if 
she  had  to  lace  her  shoes  with  twine  string,  she  blackened 
the  string  with  soot  from  the  under  side  of  the  stove  lids, 
and  polished  her  shoes  from  the  same  source. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw,  broken  with  the  cold,  the  privations 


42          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

of  the  long  winter,  and  the  growing  disappointments  of 
her  domestic  life,  saw  nothing  but  overdressing  and  fool- 
ishness in  her  daughter's  new  attention  to  the  details  of 
personal  appearance.  Burdened  with  her  inability  to 
furnish  the  clothes  the  family  needed,  she  complained 
monotonously  over  every  evidence  of  the  young  girl's 
desire  to  beautify  herself.  When  the  mother's  complaints 
became  unendurable,  the  father  usually  growled  out  a 
stern,  "Let  the  child  alone,"  but  for  the  most  part  the 
growing  girl  lived  a  life  apart  from  her  family,  thought 
along  different  lines,  and  built  about  the  future  a  wall 
they  could  never  climb,  and  over  whose  rim  they  would 
rarely,  if  ever,  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  world  within.  No 
life,  however  hard,  could  ever  tame  that  spirit,  or  grind 
its  owner  into  an  alien  groove  after  that  year  of  imagina- 
tive castle  building. 


CHAPTER  I 

BRUSHING   UP  TO   GO   TO  TOPEKA 

WITH  the  opening  of  spring  and  the  coming  of  the 
young  grass,  the  handful  of  cattle  that  had  not 
died  of  starvation  began  to  look  healthier.  A 
shipment  of  seed  corn  for  planting,  and  even  a  stinted 
amount  for  feed,  had  been  sent  from  the  East  in  March. 
But  for  that  donation  even  the  work  horses  must  have 
succumbed.  Josiah  Farnshaw  had  the  best  horses  in  the 
country  and  was  suspected  of  having  had  far  more  help 
than  he  had  really  received.  The  two  teams  he  had 
favoured  all  winter  against  the  seeding  season  were  the 
envy  of  all.  Some  of  the  old  neighbours,  after  a  winter 
spent  with  the  wife's  relatives  in  the  East,  had  decided  to 
return  and  take  the  chances  of  the  grasshopper-ridden 
Middle  West,  and  had  come  with  horses  able  to  drag  the 
plow,  but,  worn  from  travel,  most  of  them  were  practically 
useless. 

There  was  a  lull  after  the  small  grain  was  in  the  ground. 
The  menacing  eggs  of  the  grasshoppers  began  to  hatch  as 
the  sun  warmed  the  earth.  It  was  a  period  of  intense 
anxiety.  So  many  months  had  been  spent  in  alternate 
intervals  of  hope  and  fear  that  now,  since  the  test  was 
actually  and  immediately  to  be  made,  the  tension  was 

43 


44          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

terrific.  Men  rose  as  soon  as  the  first  light  of  day  ap- 
peared and  went  to  examine  the  tender  grain,  without 
which  they  could  not  remain  upon  the  land  which  had 
cost  so  dear  in  the  suffering  of  the  winter  just  past. 

A  surprise  was  in  store  for  them.  The  young  insects 
matured  rapidly.  While  they  appeared  in  swarms,  it  was 
noticed  that  they  disappeared  immediately  upon  hatching. 

Kansas  began  to  get  its  breath. 

Never  was  promise  of  crops  more  encouraging.  There 
was  a  distinct  note  of  reassurance  and  hopefulness  in  the 
air.  What  became  of  the  grasshoppers  nobody  knew 
exactly,  but  they  went  almost  as  fast  as  they  hatched. 
Some  shook  their  heads  and  said,  "Wait  till  hot  weather." 

Josiah  Farnshaw  moved  steadily  ahead  with  his  plant- 
ing. He  announced  that  he  had  faith  in  Kansas  —  had 
always  had  —  he'd  stand  on  the  burning  deck!  While 
others  hesitated,  he  took  advantage  of  wind  and  weather 
to  get  his  crops  in  the  ground.  He  had  been  right  all 
along.  He  did  not  propose  "to  be  run  off  of  the  land  he 
had  homesteaded  and  set  with  trees  by  any  durned  little 
bugs  he'd  ever  come  across."  It  was  necessary  to  be  up 
and  doing  if  a  man  was  going  to  provide  for  a  family. 

Now  this  assertion  proved  to  be  true,  for  the  agent  of 
the  harvester  company  visited  him  and  requested  pay- 
ment of  the  notes  given  the  year  before.  The  agent  was 
gracious  when  the  inability  to  pay  was  explained.  He 
would  renew  the  paper  if  it  could  be  secured  by  the  land. 
There  was  no  hurry  about  payment,  but  it  was  necessary 
for  the  details  to  be  finished  up  in  a  business-like  manner. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  45 

The  thing  looked  simple  enough.  It  was  a  just  debt  and 
Mr,  Farnshaw  intended  to  pay  it.  He'd  as  soon  it  was 
secured  by  the  land  as  any  other  way.  The  details  were 
soon  arranged. 

Mr.  Farnshaw  agreed  to  meet  the  agent  in  Colebyville, 
the  nearest  town,  the  next  day,  and  have  the  papers  made 
out.  After  the  agent  was  gone  Mr.  Farnshaw  went  to  the 
house  to  inform  his  wife  that  she  was  to  go  to  town  and 
attach  her  name  to  the  document. 

The  storm  of  protest  was  expected,  and  when  Mrs. 
Farnshaw  broke  out  with: 

"Now,  pa,  you  ain't  never  goin'  t*  mortgage  th'  farm, 
are  you?"  he  answered  surlily: 

"Yes,  I  be,  an'  I  don't  want  no  words  about  it  neither," 
and  walked  determinedly  out  of  the  house,  leaving  his 
wife  to  cry  out  her  fears  with  her  children. 

"We  won't  have  where  to  lay  our  heads,  soon,"  she  an- 
nounced bitterly.  "I've  seen  somethin'  of  th'  mortgage 
business  an'  I  ain't  never  seen  any  of  'em  free  from  payin' 
interest  afterward."  This  was  no  mere  personal  quarrel. 
Her  children  distinguished  that.  This  was  real,  definite 
trouble. 

Accustomed  as  the  child  was  to  her  mother's  woes,  Liz- 
zie Farnshaw  was  moved  to  unusual  demonstrations  by 
the  quality  of  the  outburst  of  tears  which  followed  the 
words,  and  said  impulsively: 

"Never  you  mind,  ma,  I'm  going  to  teach  school  in 
another  year,  and  I'll  help  pay  the  interest;  and  we'll  get 
out  of-debt,  too,  somehow." 


46          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  brightened. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that ! "  she  said.  "  I'm  glad  you're 
willin'  t'  help  out.  I  had  thought  maybe  you'd  get  me 
one  of  them  new  nubies  after  you  got  some  money  of  your 
own."  She  went  into  the  other  room  to  lay  out  the  black 
dress,  which  death  had  sanctified  some  months  before, 
for  use  on  the  morrow.  The  opportunity  to  wear  the 
emblems  of  mourning  turned  her  childish  mind  away  from 
the  object  of  her  journey,  and  left  her  as  unconscious  as 
the  young  girl  herself  that  the  mortgage  had  extended 
from  the  land  to  the  lives  of  herself  and  her  husband,  and 
that  in  that  promise  it  had  laid  its  withering  hand  on  the 
future  of  her  child  as  well. 

The  promise  of  assistance  had  been  lightly  given;  un- 
earned money  is  always  easily  spent;  besides,  a  teacher's 
salary  seemed  rolling  wealth  to  the  girl  who  had  never 
had  a  whole  dollar  in  her  life.  The  question  of  paying  the 
next  year's  interest  was  for  the  time  settled.  The  next 
morning  the  healthy  young  mind  was  much  more  largely 
concerned  with  the  appearance  of  her  mother  in  the  new 
black  dress  than  with  either  the  mourning  it  represented 
or  the  mortgage  which  occasioned  its  presence.  She 
sensed  dimly  that  a  mortgage  was  a  calamity,  but  her 
vigorous  youth  refused  to  concern  itself  for  long  with  a 
disaster  so  far  removed  as  the  next  year. 

But  though  calamity  might  pursue  Lizzie  Farnshaw  on 
one  hand,  true  to  her  innate  nature  she  handled  fate  in  so 
masterful  a  manner  that  even  poverty  could  not  cheat  her 
youth  of  all  its  prerogatives.  In  order  to  sufficiently  nour- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          47 

ish  the  teams  which  must  be  used  in  seeding,  Josiah  Farn- 
shaw  had  been  obliged  to  use  a  part  of  his  seed  corn  for 
feed.  In  despair  at  the  thought  of  not  being  able  to  plant 
all  the  land  under  cultivation,  he  was  overjoyed  to  hear 
that  a  farmer  by  the  name  of  Hornby,  who  lived  twenty 
miles  or  more  to  the  south,  had  a  new  and  desirable  variety 
which  he  was  trying  to  exchange  for  cows  with  young 
calves  by  their  sides.  A  calf  was  selected  from  their 
diminished  herd,  its  mother  tied  behind  the  wagon  which 
held  it,  and  Lizzie  taken  along  to  assist  in  driving.  The 
journey,  though  begun  in  early  morning,  was  a  tedious 
one,  for  the  cow  fretted,  the  day  was  hot,  and  the  footsore 
and  weary  child  was  worn  out  long  before  the  Hornby 
place  was  reached.  It  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  they 
did  arrive,  the  last  five  miles  having  been  made  with  the 
added  burden  of  a  horse  which  seemed  not  at  all  well.  Mr. 
Farnshaw  would  not  even  go  into  the  house  to  eat  supper, 
but  asked  the  farmer  to  see  that  Lizzie  was  put  to  bed  at 
once,  while  he  remained  with  the  sick  horse.  The  best 
team  had  been  chosen  for  this  trip,  in  spite  of  the  near 
approach  of  foaling  time  for  one  of  the  mares,  because  the 
other  horses  were  too  reduced  by  lack  of  food  to  drive  so 
far. 

After  eating  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  the  tired  child 
was  taken  to  her  room  by  Mrs.  Hornby,  and  in  spite 
of  the  ruffled  curtains  which  adorned  the  windows  and 
the  other  evidences  of  taste  and  refinement  about  her, 
she  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

The  next  morning  at  daybreak  the  household  of  Nathan 


48  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Hornby  was  astir.  The  first  object  upon  which  Lizzie's 
eyes  fell  was  Susan  Hornby  herself,  who  had  come  to  call 
her  to  breakfast. 

"Your  father  took  one  of  our  horses  and  started  right 
off  home  this  morning.  The  one  that  was  sick  last  night 
died  and  left  a  little  colt.  He  said  he  thought  he  had 
better  get  the  other  one  home  at  once,  so  he  took  ours. 
Come  right  into  our  room  to  wash  and  comb." 

Lizzie  was  on  her  feet  instantly  and  followed  her  hostess 
into  the  next  room,  making  love  to  the  neat  white  bows 
of  her  hostess'  apron-strings  as  she  went.  What  did  she 
care  about  her  father's  departure  without  her  when  she 
could  wash  her  face  in  a  white  bowl  whose  pitcher  stood 
beside  the  washstand,  and  comb  her  hair  before  a  looking- 
glass  "where  you  could  see  your  head  and  your  belt  at  the 
same  time?"  But  the  combing  was  destined  to  be  a  lengthy 
process,  for  before  the  child  had  pulled  her  comb  through 
the  first  lock  attacked  she  saw  reflected  beside  her  face  in 
that  mirror  an  old-fashioned,  black  walnut  secretary  full 
of  books!  Lizzie  Farnshaw  had  never  seen  a  dozen  books 
in  one  house  in  her  life  except  school  books,  and  here  were 
rows  of  books  that  didn't  look  like  any  she  had  ever  seen. 
She  took  her  comb  and  walked  over  to  the  bookcase  where 
she  could  read  the  titles  and  comb  at  the  same  time,  the 
spacious  mirror,  two  whole  feet  in  length,  being  forgotten 
in  this  much  more  desirable  gift  of  fortune. 

Susan  Hornby's  eyes  twinkled  with  delight.  In  the 
five  years  she  had  been  in  Kansas  she  had  never  been  able 
to  persuade  any  one  to  read  with  her.  Here  was  a  kindred 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          49 

spirit.  She  looked  at  the  fifteen-year-old  girl  and  was 
anxious  to  know  how  it  happened  that  she  was  interested 
in  books  at  her  time  of  life. 

"Do  you  like  to  read?" 

The  question  was  repeated,  and  once  more  she  asked  it 
before  the  child  heard  her. 

"I  guess  you  do,"  she  laughed,  answering  her  own  ques- 
tion. "We'll  have  some  good  times  before  your  father 
comes  back  for  you.  Come  on  to  breakfast  now  —  the 
men  are  waiting." 

Lizzie  Farnshaw  fell  naturally  into  her  improved  sur- 
roundings. The  educating  processes  of  reforming  her 
language  that  year  had  also  tended  to  improve  the  girl 
in  other  ways  and  it  was  with  her  straight  brown  hair 
gathered  into  neat  braids,  clean  finger-nails,  and  a  feeling 
of  general  self-respect  that  she  approached  Susan  Horn- 
by's white-clothed  table  and  was  introduced  to  Mr. 
Hornby  and  the  hired  men  who  were  already  seated 
there. 

"Right  glad  t'  see  you.  I  been  feedin'  th'  colt.  It's 
about  as  likely  a  specimine  as  you  be,"  was  Nathan  Horn- 
by's salutation,  and  his  handclasp  was  as  hearty  as  his 
stubby  fingered,  hairy  hands  could  make  it. 

Lizzie  slipped  quietly  into  her  chair  at  his  side,  and  stole 
a  glance  up  at  him  again.  All  through  the  meal  he  found 
her  eyes  turning  toward  him  curiously,  and  at  last  he  said 
good-naturedly: 

"I'll  know  you  next  time  whether  you  do  me  or  not." 

The  remark  was  a  random  one  and  meant  nothing  at 


50          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

all,  except  that  he  had  been  conscious  of  her  close  atten- 
tion, but  something  in  the  way  her  gaze  was  withdrawn 
showed  that  whatever  she  had  been  thinking  she  wished 
to  conceal  it,  and  in  the  end  it  made  Nathan  Hornby 
really  uncomfortable.  The  fact  of  the  matter  was  that 
Nathan's  language  did  not  fit  his  surroundings.  Susan 
Hornby's  house  was  in  advance  of  the  country  in  which 
they  lived,  while  her  husband  fitted  the  pioneer  life  he  had 
chosen.  Of  this  fact  neither  husband  nor  wife  seemed  to 
be  conscious.  Nathan  was  ten  years  older  than  the  woman 
he  had  married.  In  accepting  him  she  had  accepted  him 
as  he  was;  later  she  had  grown,  but  to  her  he  remained 
the  same;  he  was  just  Nathan,  and  needed  no  analysis. 
They  lived  and  loved,  and  radiated  the  harmony  which 
was  theirs.  The  incongruities  of  their  union  were  evident 
to  this  child,  who  was  supersensitive  about  grammatical 
constructions,  but  their  harmony  was  to  be  one  of  the 
strong  lessons  of  her  life.  Lizzie  was  accustomed  to  un- 
grammatical  language  at  home,  but  the  atmosphere  of 
this  house  made  ignorance  of  good  form  noticeable.  She 
liked  Mr.  Hornby,  but  she  wondered  a  little  about  his 
association  with  his  wife  and  her  home.  She  went  with 
him  to  see  the  colt  after  breakfast  and  remarked  upon  his 
neat  barnyard  in  a  manner  which  lifted  the  cloud  upon 
his  face;  he  had  had  a  feeling  that  he  did  not  somehow 
come  up  to  her  expectations. 

The  little  colt  nosed  about  his  hand  looking  for  food, 
and  Nathan  laughed. 

"It's  just  like  th*  human  critter  o'  that  age  —  wants  t' 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  51 

try  everything  in  its  mouth,"  he  said,  trying  to  find  a 
topic  of  conversation. 

Again  Nathan  Hornby  caught  a  flicker  of  surprise  in 
Lizzie  Farnshaw's  eye,  and  again  he  was  disconcerted. 

"Wonder  what  I  done  t'  set  that  child  t'  lookin'  at  me 
so  funny?"  he  asked  himself  as  he  went  to  the  field  later, 
and  being  big-hearted  and  ignorant  was  unaware  that  a 
man  could  hamstring  himself  by  an  ungrammatical  phrase. 

All  day  Susan  Hornby  read  with  the  young  girl  and 
questioned  her  to  get  into  touch  with  her  life  and  thought, 
and  when  night  came  was  wildly  enthusiastic  about  her. 

"Nate,  she's  worth  a  lift,"  she  said  to  her  husband  after 
Lizzie  had  again  been  tucked  into  bed.  "Let's  take  her 
with  us  to  Topeka  this  fall  and  put  her  into  the  high 
school.  She's  —  she's  just  the  age  our  Katie  would  have 
been.  She  says  some  teacher  told  her  she  was  ready  for 
the  high  school." 

"Better  wait  till  I'm  elected,  Sue,"  Nathan  replied,  and 
then,  seeing  Susan's  face  cloud  over  with  disappointment, 
added  more  cheerfully: 

"Of  course  I  don't  care  if  you  have  the  child,  but  you 
mustn't  get  to  countin'  on  this  thing.  That's  th* 
trouble  with  these  here  fool  politics:  they  get  folks  t' 
countin'  on  things  that  can't  come  around." 

Long  after  his  wife  was  asleep,  however,  he  mused  upon 
the  prospects  of  going  to  Topeka,  and  for  her  sake  he 
wanted  to  go.  Nathan  Hornby  always  spoke  of  his 
chances  of  being  elected  to  the  legislature  of  his  state 
deprecatingly.  He  swaggered  and  pretended  to  be  in- 


52    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

different,  but  the  worm  of  'desire  burrowed  deeper  every 
time  Topeka  was  mentioned.  The  very  fact  that  he  was 
uneducated,  and,  as  the  Democrats  had  said,  unfit,  made 
him  desire  it  the  more.  Criticism  had  aroused  the  spirit 
of  contest  in  him.  Also  he  wanted  Susan,  now  that  she 
had  begun  to  plan  for  it,  to  have  it.  Nathan  Hornby 
knew  that  the  woman  he  had  married  was  his  superior, 
and  loved  her  for  it.  Masculine  jealousy  he  did  not  know. 
He  would  have  been  sincerely  glad  to  have  had  her  elected 
to  the  legislature  of  Kansas  instead  of  himself. 

"It's  like  Sue  t'  want  t'  take  th'  girl,"  he  meditated, 
the  next  day  in  the  cornfield.  "She'll  see  Katie  in  every 
girl  she  sees  for  th'  rest  of  'er  days,  I  reckon.  I  wouldn't 
'a'  had  no  show  at  Topeka,  nohow,  if  she  hadn't  'a'  made 
Wallace  feel  good  'bout  that  crazy  thing  he  calls  'is  wife. 
Curious  how  big  things  hinge  on  little  ones.  Now  Sue 
had  no  more  idea  o'  gettin'  a  nomination  t'  th'  legislature 
for  me  than  that  hen  she  was  foolin'  with  this  mornin'." 
Later,  he  remembered  the  thing  that  had  worried  him 
before  the  subject  of  Topeka  came  up.  "Wonder  what  I 
done  that  set  that  youngster  t'  lookin'  at  me  so  funny?" 

Mrs.  Hornby  had  not  set  her  heart  on  going  to  Topeka 
foolishly,  but  she  wanted  to  go  and  it  entered  into  all  her 
plans.  She  did  not  tell  the  young  girl  of  her  plans  at 
once,  but  waited  for  her  to  make  her  place  in  Nathan's 
heart,  as  she  was  sure  she  would  do.  On  that  point  the 
girl  succeeded  surprisingly.  Her  knowledge  of  horses,  of 
harness,  of  farm  subjects  in  general  made  good  soil  for 
conversation  with  her  host,  and  her  love  for  the  motherless 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  55 

colt  called  her  to  the  barn  and  made  special  openings  for 
communications.  Nathan  called  the  colt,  which  was  of 
the  feminine  gender,  Pat,  because  its  upper  lip  was  so  long, 
and  that  too  the  girl  enjoyed,  and  entered  into  the  joke 
by  softening  the  name  to  Patsie.  They  were  good  friends. 
Having  decided  to  befriend  her,  the  man's  interest  in  her 
increased.  She  was  to  be  theirs.  The  sense  of  possession 
grew  with  both  husband  and  wife.  Already  they  had  cast 
their  lot  with  the  child,  and  when  at  last  they  put  the 
question  of  the  high  school  to  her,  the  friendship  was 
firmly  welded  by  the  extravagance  of  its  reception. 

"Think  of  it!  Think  of  it!  Only  think  of  it!  I  didn't 
know  how  it  was  going  to  come  about,  but  I  was  sure  I  was 
going  to  get  it  somehow!"  the  young  girl  cried,  dancing 
about  the  room  excitedly.  "Whenever  I  was  afraid  some- 
thing was  going  to  keep  me  from  it,  I  used  to  say,  'I 
will!  I  will!  I  will  go  to  high  school!'  Oh,  isn't  it  too 
lovely !  Do  you  think  my  saying  it  made  any  difference  ? " 
she  asked  eagerly;  and  the  quaint  couple,  who  were  born 
two  generations  in  advance  of  the  birth  cry  of  New 
Thought,  laughed  innocently  and  made  no  reply. 

When  the  floodgates  of  surprise  and  emotion  were 
opened,  and  she  began  to  talk  of  her  hopes  and  fears,  it 
was  but  natural  that  she  should  speak  of  her  struggles  for 
personal  improvement,  though  this  was  instinctively  done 
when  Mr.  Hornby  was  absent. 

Curiously  enough,  some  of  her  points  of  information 
were  as  helpful  to  Susan  Hornby  as  they  had  been  to  her. 
,Mrs.  Hornby  knew  the  rules  of  good  grammar,  but  manv 


54    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

little  observances  of  table  manners  had  changed  since  her 
youth.  She  read  and  was  well  informed  on  general  topics 
of  the  day,  but  her  life  for  more  than  fifteen  years  had 
been  spent  with  Nathan  and  with  the  hired  men  who  ate 
at  her  table,  and  she  had  become  careless  of  small  things, 
so  that  she  listened  with  an  amused  smile,  but  with 
real  profit  as  well,  to  Lizzie's  confidences  that  "You 
shouldn't  cross  your  knife  and  fork  on  your  plate  when 
you  are  through  eating,  like  the  hired  men,  but  lay  them 
side  by  side,  neat  and  straight";  that  "You  shouldn't  eat 
with  your  knife,  neither,"  and  that  "To  sip  your  coffee 
out  of  your  saucer  with  a  noise  like  grasshoppers'  wings 
was  just  awful ! "  She,  too,  was  brushing  up  to  go  to  Topeka, 
and  while  much  in  advance  of  her  husband  or  any  of  her 
associates  in  society  matters,  she  had  lived  the  life  of  the 
farm,  and  to  the  end  of  her  existence  would  be  conscious 
of  the  inequalities  of  her  education.  Of  this  she  said 
nothing  to  the  child,  but  listened  and  remembered.  Oc- 
casionally she  reminded  the  girl  that  they  might  not  go  to 
Topeka,  but  even  as  she  warned  she  was  quickening  the 
subconscious  mind  to  aid  in  recording  any  fact  which 
might  be  advantageous  when  she  herself  got  there,  and 
her  love  for  the  child  grew.  The  girl  was  part  of  the 
scheme.  In  a  week  she  had  become  one  of  the  family. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Mr.  Farnshaw  did  not  appear; 
farm  matters  had  detained  him,  so  that  the  opportunity 
for  a  closer  acquaintance  with  his  daughter  was  per- 
mitted. Under  Mrs.  Hornby  the  child  blossomed  natur- 
ally. The  old-fashioned  secretary  was  the  young  girl's 


delight.  Seeing  her  shaking  in  silent  glee  over  "David 
Copperneld"  one  night,  and  remembering  her  eager  pur- 
suit of  intellectual  things,  Mrs.  Hornby  remarked  to  her 
husband,  "As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he."  The 
world  of  to-day  would  add  to  Susan  Hornby's  little  speech, 
"Not  only  as  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he,"  but 
"So  shall  he  live,  and  do,  and  be  surrounded."  This 
simple  daughter  of  the  farm,  the  herds,  and  the  home- 
steaded  hills  of  bleak  and  barren  Kansas,  where  the  edu- 
cated and  intellectual  of  earth  were  as  much  foreigners 
as  the  inhabitants  of  far  off  Russia  or  Hindustan,  had  by 
her  thought  not  only  prepared  herself  for  the  life  she 
coveted,  but  had  compelled  the  opportunity  to  enter  upon 
her  travels  therein.  When  Mr.  Farnshaw  arrived,  Mrs. 
Hornby  was  fortunate  in  the  form  of  her  request  to  take 
his  daughter  with  her,  and  it  was  arranged  that  if  they 
went  to  Topeka  the  child  should  be  a  member  of  their 
household. 

"We'll  be  just  as  good  to  her  as  if  she  were  our  own," 
she  promised,  and  then  added  reflectively,  "We're  going 
to  call  her  her  full  name  too.  Elizabeth  was  my  mother's 
name.  It's  so  much  prettier  than  Lizzie." 

Under  any  other  circumstances  Mr.  Farnshaw  would 
have  seen  symptoms  of  being  "  stuck-up  "  in  the  change  of 
name,  but  Elizabeth  had  been  his  mother's  name,  and 
although  he  had  little  recollection  of  his  mother,  and  had 
never  heard  her  called  by  her  given  name,  he  had  seen  it 
writ  large  on  her  tombstone,  and,  his  eye  having  become 
accustomed  to  the  word,  his  ear  fell  naturally  into  line 


56          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

with  its  pronunciation;  besides,  his  daughter  was  to  be  a 
school-teacher,  and  was  to  sign  contracts  like  a  man,  and 
must  have  a  proper  sort  of  name.  She  was  to  live  in  the 
house  of  a  member  of  the  legislature,  too,  and  already 
called  him  and  his  wife  "Uncle"  and  "Aunt."  Mr.  Farn- 
shaw  tasted  pride  and  found  it  a  sweet  morsel. 

Election  day  came  the  first  week  in  November  and 
Nathan  was  successful.  With  the  high  school  year  in 
view,  they  moved  to  Topeka  the  next  week.  It  was  as 
if  they  were  literally  to  educate  their  Katie.  A  slight 
disappointment  awaited  them.  Though  they  were  ready 
the  young  girl  did  not  come  immediately. 

According  to  the  dilatory  methods  of  the  Farnshaw 
household,  Elizabeth  —  she  had  been  supported  by  her 
father  when  the  boys  had  shown  an  inclination  to  laugh 
her  out  of  the  change  of  name  —  was  three  weeks  later 
yet  in  going.  The  eager  girl  urged  at  home  that  she  would 
be  behind  her  classes  if  she  went  into  school  so  late  in  the 
term,  but  her  parents,  who  knew  nothing  of  school  re- 
quirements, refused  to  let  her  go  till  the  corn  was  all 
husked  and  everything  snug  for  the  winter,  arguing  that 
so  much  stock  had  been  lost  the  winter  before  that  every 
care  must  be  taken  of  what  was  left.  Tears  at  the  pros- 
pect of  such  a  handicap  made  no  impression,  and  it  was 
not  till  December  that  the  child  and  her  father  set  off  in 
the  farm  wagon  for  Topeka,  two  days  distant.  Railroad 
fare  was  not  to  be  considered,  and  two  new  dresses  and  a 
new  pair  of  shoes  —  not  side-laces  —  were  all  the  addi- 
tions to  her  wardrobe. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  57 

Susan  Hornby  was  much  annoyed  at  the  delay,  but  met 
the  young  girl  with  open  arms  when  she  arrived. 

She  was  less  happy  in  accosting  Mr.  Farnshaw. 

"Why  in  this  world  did  you  keep  her  so  late?  Half  the 
year  is  gone!"  was  her  luckless  remark  to  him. 

"She's  doin'  mighty  well  t'  get  t'  come  at  all,"  Mr. 
Farnshaw  replied,  taking  instant  offence.  "I'm  th'  only 
man  in  our  part  of  th'  country  that's  givin'  'is  childern 
any  show  at  th'  high  school  at  all,  I  can  tell  you.  I  knew 
I  wouldn't  get  no  thanks  for  it  from  th-  beginnin'.  That's 
th'  way  with  things  nowadays,"  was  his  reply. 

"Oh,  well,  we  all  know  you  have  needed  her,  and  that 
it's  hard  to  spare  a  child  on  the  farm,  but  we  were  so  anx- 
ious to  have  her  have  all  that  could  be  got  out  of  this 
year,"  Mrs.  Hornby  said,  divided  between  a  desire  to 
scold  the  man  and  a  real  disinclination  to  hurt  any  one. 
So  much  valuable  time  had  been  lost.  She  saw  that  she 
must  be  politic  for  Elizabeth's  sake,  however,  for  the 
child's  appearance  told  the  experienced  woman  that  she 
must  keep  him  in  a  good  humour  and  inveigle  him  into 
giving  her  a  little  money  for  clothes. 

"We'll  just  make  the  best  of  the  time  that  is  left,  little 
girl,"  Mrs.  Hornby  said  cheerfully,  and  in  that  only  added 
to  the  impression  already  made,  for  Mr.  Farnshaw  re- 
membered his  daughter's  tears,  and  the  feeling  grew  that 
instead  of  being  lauded  for  what  he  considered  a  great 
sacrifice  on  his  part,  he  was  coming  in  for  a  blame  wholly 
unexpected,  and  that  this  woman  was  siding  with  the 
girl  and  going  to  spoil  her.  People  of  the  farm,  more  than 


58          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

any  other  class,  resent  being  blamed,  and  Josiah  Farn- 
shaw  was  an  extreme  representative  of  his  class.  He  had 
come  to  Topeka  delighted  with  himself  because  of  the  fine 
opportunities  he  was  giving  his  daughter,  and  here  was 
this  woman  at  the  first  word  finding  fault  because  he  had 
not  done  better;  it  was  no  wonder  that  children  were  not 
satisfied  with  anything  a  man  could  give  them! 

There  was  now  no  possibility  of  Elizabeth  entering 
school  till  after  Christmas,  and  Aunt  Susan  turned  her  at- 
tention to  efforts  to  get  the  most  out  of  the  time  they 
would  have  to  reorganize  the  poorly  constructed  dresses. 
She  was  considerate  of  Mr.  Farnshaw's  evident  sensitive- 
ness, seeing  also  that  he  had  no  real  comprehension  of  the 
damage  done  by  the  delay,  and  made  him  comfortable 
by  urging  him  to  stay  on  after  he  was  really  ready  to  go 
home.  So  successful  was  she  that  he  forgot  for  the  time 
he  was  in  her  presence  that  all  was  not  in  his  favour,  and 
she  was  able  to  induce  him  to  give  all  that  he  was  able  to 
give  toward  the  improvements  she  suggested  in  his 
daughter's  wearing  apparel.  Elizabeth  was  surprised  at 
the  ready  response  to  demands  made  upon  his  purse,  but 
here  again  Mrs.  Hornby  left  a  sting,  wholly  unintended 
and  at  the  time  not  recognized  by  Mr.  Farnshaw  himself, 
but  remembered  by  him  later  and  never  forgotten  after  it 
was  once  fixed  firmly  in  his  mind.  Aunt  Susan,  concerned 
for  the  entrance  of  the  child  into  the  company  of  those  of 
her  own  age,  pointed  out  to  her  father  the  gayly  dressed 
girls  of  Elizabeth's  age,  and  suggested  that  a  new  coat 
would  be  an  absolute  necessity.  Mr.  Farnshaw  had  given 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  59 

Mrs.  Hornby  all  the  money  he  had  with  him  except  four 
dollars,  and  his  wife  had  given  him  a  list  of  groceries  to  be 
purchased  in  the  city.  It  rather  pleased  him  to  use  the 
money  toward  his  daughter's  adornment  and  it  tickled 
his  pride  as  well  to  give  his  last  cent  toward  her  education. 
Mrs.  Hornby  looked  at  the  money  he  placed  in  her  hand, 
and  hesitated  visibly.  Josiah  Farnshaw  stiffened  at  her 
manner.  Aunt  Susan  hated  to  ask  for  more,  but  this 
would  not  buy  the  girl  a  coat  that  she  could  wear  in  To- 
pekal 

"You  are  just  as  good  as  you  can  be  about  this,  Mr. 
Farnshaw,  but  —  but  a  coat  like  the  other  girls  have  will 
cost  at  least  eight  or  ten  dollars."  She  felt  his  attitude. 

The  amount  named  took  the  man's  breath.  He  had 
given  all  he  had  and  yet  this  woman,  whom  he  had  begun 
to  like  again,  was  not  satisfied! 

"A  man  can't  do  no  more'n  he  can,  an'  that's  th'  last 
red  cent  I've  got,"  he  replied,  humiliated  at  the  necessity 
of  the  confession. 

"Oh!  I'm  so  sorry,"  Aunt  Susan  exclaimed,  really  so  at 
having  forced  the  statement.  She  sat  with  her  brows  knit 
in  serious  thought  a  moment,  and  a  light  began  to  break 
in  upon  her.  Elizabeth  had  to  have  that  wrap  somehow 
and  here  was  a  way  right  before  her.  She  remembered  a 
long  cape  she  had  noticed  going  down  the  street  that  very 
morning. 

"I  guess  we  can  make  it  do,"  she  said  hesitantly.  She 
was  thinking  out  her  plan  and  spoke  slowly.  .  "We'll  just 
make  a  cloak  ourselves.  We  can  do  it." 


60  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Josiah  Farnshaw  left  the  next  day  for  home,  in  a  good 
humour  with  himself  and  his  munificence,  but  on  the  way 
home  remembered  Susan  Hornby's  hesitancy  and  later 
decision  to  make  the  cloak  herself,  and  the  worm  of  sus- 
picion began  to  gnaw  again. 

"If  that  woman  could  make  something  that'd  do, 
what'd  she  ask  for  one  of  them  expensive  coats  for?"  he 
asked  himself.  "I  guess  it's  only  th'  girl  that  figures  in 
that  deal!  I  ain't  nothin'  but  th'  oats  she  feeds  on  no- 
how," he  reflected,  and  having  once  given  the  thought 
lodgment  it  grew  and  became  the  chief  stone  of  the  corner. 

Our  own  comes  to  us,  and  Josiah  Farnshaw  had  formed 
the  habit  of  that  kind  of  thinking.  He  felt  that  he  was 
being  robbed,  and  forgot  that  his  daughter  was  being  be- 
friended, and  out  of  his  trip  to  Topeka  got  only  a  sour 
distaste  for  the  woman  he  could  clearly  see  was  going  to 
encourage  the  child  in  extravagance.  He  had  never  spent 
so  much  money  on  the  entire  family  in  a  winter  as  he  had 
done  on  that  girl,  and  yet  it  wasn't  enough.  "He'd  bet 
he'd  never  give  'er  another  year's  schoolin'.  She'd  come 
home  an'  get  a  summer  school  —  that's  what  she'd  do. 
All  folks  thought  about  nowadays  was  clothes!" 

To  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  every  day  of  that  busy  month 
was  full  of  unconscious  growth.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Farnshaw 
was  out  of  sight,  Mrs.  Hornby  said  to  Elizabeth: 

"Now,  my  child,  I  am  going  to  take  up  the  seams  in 
that  basque." 

Elizabeth  looked  down  at  her  "long  basque"  in  dismay; 
she  had  striven  hard  over  that  waist  and  had  thought  that 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  61 

it  would  do  very  well,  though  conscious  that  it  had  faults. 
Her  face  flushed  as  she  answered  reluctantly: 

"The  seam  in  the  back  isn't  quite  straight,  but  —  I 
never  made  one  like  it  before  —  and  I  thought  it  would 
do." 

"So  it  would,  dear,  but  it  can  do  better  and  we've  got 
plenty  of  time  to  fix  it.  You'll  feel  ever  so  much  better 
about  it  when  you  see  how  the  other  girls  are  dressed." 

As  Aunt  Susan  snipped  and  ripped  and  rebasted  the 
refractory  seam,  Elizabeth  brought  out  her  little  stores  of 
finery  to  discuss  their  artistic  features. 

"Look,"  she  said,  opening  a  pasteboard  box  which  held 
her  few  ribbons.  "I  coaxed  a  long  time  for  that,  but  I 
got  it."  She  held  up  for  Aunt  Susan's  approval  a  new 
Alsatian  bow  of  pink  ribbon.  "I  wanted  the  wide,  but 
they  didn't  have  it,  so  I  got  a  lot  of  the  narrow  and  hid 
the  joinings  in  the  pleats.  I  think  it's  pretty,  don't 
you?" 

Susan  Hornby  looked  at  the  bow  critically,  and  then 
seeing  Elizabeth's  face  cloud  over  with  a  suspicion  that  she 
did  not  regard  the  treasure  with  favour,  said  slowly: 

"It's  pretty  —  that  is,  it's  a  pretty  colour;  but  I  was 
looking  to  see  about  how  many  yards  there  was  in  it,  for 
the  girls  aren't  wearing  Alsatian  bows,  as  you  call  them, 
this  year.  They  seem  to  be  wearing  their  hair  mostly  in 
two  plain  braids.  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  you  look  ever  so 
much  better  with  your  hair  done  that  way.  We  can  rip 
it  up  and  press  the  ribbon.  I'm  awfully  glad  you've  got 
such  a  lot;  it'll  make  lovely  bows  for  the  braids." 


62    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

While  Elizabeth  ripped  her  bow  to  pieces  Aunt  Susan's 
tongue  ran  on  with  the  subject  nearest  her  heart. 

"To-morrow  morning  Pm  going  to  have  you  sit  by  that 
window  and  watch  the  girls  that  go  past  about  school 
time.  You'll  learn  more  this  month  doing  that  than  you 
would  in  school,  I  expect.  It's  just  as  well  you  can't 
start  till  next  term,  since  you  didn't  get  here  at  first." 

"Next  term!"  her  new  dresses  with  their  long  basques 
—  long  basques  were  more  talked  of  than  any  other 
feature  of  dress  that  year,  not  by  Elizabeth  alone  but  all 
womankind  —  had  seemed  so  magnificent  that  she  could 
not  think  of  it  being  necessary  to  take  a  whole  month  to 
make  them  over. 

"Yes,  not  till  after  Christmas.  You  can't  start  in  at 
the  middle  of  a  term  in  high  school  like  you  can  in  the 
country.  We'll  get  you  a  wrap  made  before  that  time. 
I  told  your  father  I  couldn't  think  of  your  going  without 
a  coat  of  some  sort.  He  didn't  feel  that  he  could  afford  a 
coat,  so  I'm  going  to  get  the  cloth  and  you  and  I  will  make 
you  a  circular  this  week." 

"A  circular?     What's  that?" 

Aunt  Susan  explained  the  new  kind  of  cape  which  came 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  dress  and  had  a  hood  lined  with 
bright  coloured  silk  and  was  puckered  with  rubber  to  make 
it  fit  the  face. 

It  took  all  day  to  finish  the  basque,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing Elizabeth  watched  the  well-dressed  city  girls  loiter 
past,  and  was  glad  that  she  could  have  a  month  to  get 
ready  to  meet  them  in  the  schoolroom.  She  had  never 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          63 

known  anybody  dressed  so  well  for  anything  but  a  funeral, 
or  a  party,  or  to  go  to  church.  They  actually  wore  gloves 
to  school!  Elizabeth  looked  at  her  brown  hands  and 
decided  that  she  would  wear  her  mittens  to  bed  till  her 
hands  sweated  themselves  to  a  proper  degree  of  whiteness, 
and  Susan  Hornby  let  her  look  on,  and  weigh,  and  exclaim. 
Thus  was  Elizabeth  Farnshaw's  education  begun. 

The  afternoon  was  spent  selecting  the  goods  for  the  new 
cape,  and  wandering  about  the  great  stores  and  the  streets; 
a  new  pair  of  pretty  gray  gloves  were  obtained,  and 
for  the  first  time  Elizabeth  heard  the  term  "lisle  thread" 
used  as  against  the  common  term  of  cotton  for  all  things 
not  silk  or  woollen.  The  new  cape  was  to  have  a  wonder- 
ful metal  fastener  called  a  clasp,  and  life  ran  like  a  silver 
stream  the  next  two  days  as  they  sewed  on  the  new-fangled 
garment. 

Oh,  father!  could  you  have  but  seen  truly,  how  great 
would  have  been  your  joy! 

Each  day  Elizabeth  watched  the  boys  and  girls  come 
and  go  past  Nathan  Hornby's  house,  and  when  the  cape 
was  finished  she  and  Aunt  Susan  went  daily  on  shopping 
expeditions.  It  was  the  most  wonderful  week  of  her 
fifteen  years,  and  was  well  rounded  out  by  going  to  church 
on  Sunday  and  for  the  first  time  listening  to  a  choir,  and 
seeing  a  window  of  softly  coloured  glass.  She  almost 
wondered  If  she  had  been  transported  from  the  body  to 
the  heaven  of  crowns  and  harps  which  her  mother  loved 
to  describe. 

To  heaven  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  had  gone  in  very  truth, 


64    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

but  it  was  the  heaven  of  adolescence  and  developing  wom- 
anhood. In  the  short  time  she  had  been  observing  the 
comings  and  goings  of  the  boys  and  girls  of  their  neigh- 
bourhood one  young  man  had  begun  to  stand  out  from  the 
rest.  Elizabeth  was  nearly  sixteen,  and  when  she  saw  him 
now  in  a  pew  a  few  seats  ahead  of  her  she  made  a  little 
movement  of  astonishment. 

Aunt  Susan  caught  the  sound  of  the  indrawn  breath 
and  looked  around  inquiringly,  but  Elizabeth,  with  eyes 
modestly  down,  studied  her  gray-gloved  hands  and  seemed 
unaware  of  her  scrutiny.  Happiness  had  been  Elizabeth 
Farnshaw's  daily  portion  for  weeks,  but  this  was  different. 
Here  was  happiness  of  another  sort,  with  other  qualities, 
composed  of  more  compelling  elements.  The  gamut  of 
bliss  had  not  all  been  run.  Elizabeth  had  progressed  from 
Arcadia  to  Paradise  and  was  invoicing  her  emotions.  She 
never  shied  around  a  subject,  but  looked  all  things  in  the 
face;  and  she  found  this  delightfully  surprising  world  of 
emotions  as  entrancing  as  the  external  one  of  meilow  light, 
music,  good  clothes,  and  educational  prospects.  The  rest 
of  the  hour  was  a  blissful  dream,  in  which  the  only  thought 
was  a  wish  for  Luther  and  his  stunted  pony  and  the  free- 
dom of  grassy  slopes  where  she  could  pour  out  her  new- 
found joy.  With  each  new  event  of  this  life  the  loss  of 
Luther  was  accentuated. 

Nathan  Hornby  and  his  wife  had  no  acquaintances  in 
Topeka.  They  left  the  church  as  soon  as  the  service  was 
over.  The  young  girl  went  with  them,  conscious  that  he 
was  behind  her,  glad  that  her  new  cape  was  finished, 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  65 

+ 

wondering  if  he  noticed  it,  eager  to  be  seen  yet  wanting  to 
hide,  and  foolishly  aglow  and  wishing  devoutly  that  she 
had  eyes  in  the  back  of  her  head.  Henceforth  Elizabeth 
lived  in  the  thought  of  seeing  him.  She  dubbed  him. 
"The  Unknown,"  and  if  she  looked  out  of  the  window  at 
home,  it  was  in  the  hope  of  seeing  him  pass;  on  the  way  to 
school  she  was  alert  and  watchful  for  a  glimpse  of  him  in 
the  distance;  if  she  went  to  church  it  was  to  look  for  him 
as  soon  as  seated,  though  he  was  rarely  there.  If  she  saw 
him  in  the  morning  her  day  was  made  glad;  if  she  failed  to 
see  him  she  looked  forward  with  anticipation  to  the  next 
day. 

The  winter  spent  itself.  January  passed,  and  Feb- 
ruary. The  glad  days  ran  on  in  kaleidoscopic  readjust- 
ment of  joy,  work,  wonder,  and  unfoldment,  as  far  as 
Elizabeth's  own  life  was  concerned.  After  the  manner  of 
youth,  her  own  affairs  absorbed  her.  In  fact  the  young 
girl  was  so  filled  with  the  delights  of  her  own  little  world 
that  it  was  only  gradually  that  she  began  to  understand 
that  the  life  in  Topeka  was  not  as  fortunate  with  the  dear 
couple  who  had  shared  with  her  their  home.  The  first 
signs  of  trouble  were  made  manifest  to  her  by  the  increas- 
ing tenderness  with  which  Susan  Hornby  hovered  around 
her  mate,  and  her  evident  and  growing  solicitude. 

Elizabeth  was  startled  when  she  did  at  last  comprehend 
the  gloom  and  anxiety  about  her.  The  manner  of  the 
pair  prevented  questions,  but,  as  she  watched  covertly, 
Aunt  Susan's  distress  was  transferred  ta  her.  Elizabeth 
was  not  curious,  but  she  was  intensely  sympathetic,  and 


66 

from  disinterested  motives  she  became  keenly  observant 
of  all  that  took  place  about  her.  No  opportunity  to  help 
offered.  With  a  sharp  realization  that  her  best  friends 
were  in  trouble,  she  was  obliged  to  conceal  any  trace  of 
that  knowledge.  Nathan  and  his  wife  talked  apart  and 
in  low  tones,  avoiding  the  young  girl's  presence,  and  were 
evidently  puzzled  and  uneasy.  It  was  Elizabeth's  way 
to  make  the  troubles  of  those  about  her  her  own.  Long- 
ing to  help,  it  was  impossible  to  be  indifferent.  Gradually 
she  got  bits  of  indirect  light  upon  the  subject.  From 
little  things  dropped  accidentally,  and  often  from  explana- 
tions which  circumstances  forced  upon  them,  Elizabeth 
learned  that  money  was  scarce.  This  came  as  a  shock, 
and  with  all  the  hurt  and  heartsick  worry  which  the  men- 
tion of  finances  always  brought  to  the  girl.  Why  must 
people  have  money?  she  asked  herself  daily.  And  mixed 
with  dreams  of  "The  Unknown"  came  speculations  as  to 
the  part  which  money  played  in  the  game  of  life,  and  the 
bondage  of  men  to  it,  and  a  longing  to  be  free  from  \ts 
withering  grasp.  In  her  childish  mind  the  matter  of  free- 
dom became  slightly  mixed  and  she  dreamed  dreams  of 
being  free  by  owning  unlimited  amounts  of  it,  and  she 
coveted  marvellous  bank  accounts,  acquired  in  some 
mystical  way,  with  which  the  woes  of  humanity  could  be 
relieved  by  giving.  Along  with  this  new  idea  of  dispensing 
charity  grew  a  desire  to  know  why  the  crop  of  cash  was 
short  in  Nathan  Hornby's  home.  In  her  innocent  way 
she  led  up  to  the  subject  of  expenses  in  general,  but  Aunt 
Susan  kept  family  affairs  strictly  in  the  family  and  vouch- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          67 

safed  no  explanations,  unaware  that  the  example  she  set 
in  that  way  was  to  bear  strange  and  unexpected  fruit. 
But  though  Elizabeth  carried  the  reflex  of  the  anxiety  of 
those  about  her,  she  was  scarcely  sixteen,  and  youth  and 
joy  and  life  claimed  her  attention  and  the  affairs  of  her 
stage  in  life's  span  crowded  out  the  affairs  of  others. 

These  were  days  of  transition.  The  child  was  becoming 
a  woman.  The  love  which  was  flowing  out  of  her  heart 
like  a  spring  freshet  toward  one  who,  because  she  saw 
him  less  often  was  the  more  often  in  her  thoughts,  was 
making  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  more  observant  of  those  who 
professed  love.  Desiring  mutual  relations,  she  became 
sensitive  to  the  communications  of  those  about  her  who 
had  to  do  with  mutual  relations. 

Elizabeth  saw  that  the  more  trouble  clouded  the  brow 
of  Nathan  Hornby  the  cheerier  and  closer  Aunt  Susan 
drew  to  him.  There  was  none  of  the  quarrels  here  to 
which  Elizabeth  had  become  accustomed  when  things 
went  wrong  at  home.  The  contrast  between  her  father's 
and  mother's  daily  life  and  that  of  Nathan  and  Susan 
Hornby  in  times  of  trouble  was  the  subject  of  constant 
thought.  Nathan  and  Susan  Hornby  were  to  be  guide- 
posts  along  the  highway  of  Elizabeth  Farnshaw's  domestic 
affairs.  Love  pointed  her  thoughts  toward  marriage,  and 
here  was  a  worthy  model  after  which  to  build.  Her  nat- 
ural affection  and  gratitude  were  enhanced  by  the  fact 
that  this  couple  with  whom  she  lived,  and  who  were  other- 
wise very  dear  to  her,  were  the  immediate  example  of  all 
that  was  noble  in  the  world  of  her  present  dreams. 


68     THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  fact  that  the  harmony  between  Aunt  Susan  and 
her  mate  was  of  stern  stuff  and  not  matured  solely  upon 
success  and  pleasure  added  to  the  strength  of  that  exam- 
ple. Elizabeth  had  not  been  taken  into  the  confidence  of 
either;  their  private  affairs  were  kept  screened  from  the 
gaze  of  any  but  themselves.  By  a  word  dropped  here  and 
there,  however,  she  learned  that  Nathan  had  speculated 
and  lost  much  money;  also  that  he  had  favoured  measures 
advanced  by  butter-tongued  lobbyists,  and  that  he  had 
lost  the  good-will  of  many  of  his  constituents. 

While  Elizabeth  watched  the  tender  association  of 
Nathan  Hornby  and  his  wife  and  found  such  glowing 
tribute  in  her  heart  toward  the  life  they  lived  together,  a 
tragedy,  in  spite  of  the  support  and  affection  lavished 
by  a  faithful  wife,  was  to  leave  the  sunny,  cordial  man 
a  broken,  half-suspicious  one. 

Nathan  Hornby  was  to  learn  that  legislative  assemblies 
were  death-traps  to  those  whom  providence  had  failed  to 
coach  in  diplomacy  and  judgment,  that  legislation  was  a 
game  at  which  none  but  gamesters  might  successfully  play, 
a  devouring  flame  singeing  the  wings  of  all  who  failed  to 
distinguish  between  the  light  of  a  common  candle  and 
that  of  a  real  sun,  that  it  was  a  nightmare  to  most,  and 
ticklish  business  for  all.  Unable  to  distinguish  between 
the  good  and  the  bad  intentions  of  those  who  advo- 
cated the  passage  of  bills,  convinced  long  before  the 
end  of  the  legislative  session  that  a  bill  looking  in- 
nocent and  direct  in  its  wording  might  be  evil  and  in- 
direct in  its  outworking,  Nathan  became  more  and  more 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  69 

+ 

confused  and  less  and  less  able  to  withstand  the  attacks 
made  upon  him. 

Nathan  Hornby  was  a  leaden  figure  in  the  legislative 
assembly.  He  was  honest,  but  slow  of  wit,  and  apt  to 
become  passive  if  pushed  beyond  his  power  to  understand. 
This  man  who  could  throw  the  earth  up  to  a  hill  of  corn 
with  skill  and  precision,  who  could  build  a  haystack  which 
would  turn  the  rains  and  snows  of  winter,  and  break  a  colt 
to  the  harness  without  breaking  its  spirit, who  had  handled 
successfully  the  problems  to  which  he  had  been  trained, 
was  not  able  to  throw  arguments  up  to  the  legislative  hill 
or  protect  his  reputation  against  the  floods  of  criticism  and 
accusation  to  which  his  actions  were  subjected  either  here 
in  the  Capitol  or  at  home  among  his  constituents.  His 
spirit  was  broken:  he  recognized  that  he  was  totally  unfit 
for  the  position  into  which  fortune  had  thrust  him.  Nathan 
sat  back  in  his  chair,  in  the  House,  with  few  books  and 
papers  on  the  desk  before  him,  and  these  unopened,  his 
manner,  like  his  wrinkled  boots,  indicative  of  the  farm, 
his  whole  attitude  that  of  the  unsophisticated.  He  lis- 
tened to  the  speeches  made  around  him,  but  had  no  ideas 
to  express.  He  was  a  pathetic  figure.  Only  the  accidents 
of  Grasshopper  Year,  when  legislative  timber  was  scarce, 
could  have  placed  him  in  such  a  position.  His  tough, 
shaven  cheeks  grew  thinner  day  by  day  as  he  pulled  at  the 
brush  of  grizzled  chin-whiskers  and  tried  to  understand 
what  went  on  before  him. 

During  those  days  Susan  was  both  his  refuge  and  the 
cross  of  his  crucifixion.     The  deeper  his  difficulties  became 


70  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  more  he  turned  to  her  for  help,  certain  not  only  that 
she  understood  better  than  he  the  measures  about  which 
his  colleagues  argued,  but  that  she  understood  him  and  his 
failures,  as  well  as  his  needs.  It  was  because  Susan  under- 
stood that  the  cross  was  so  heavy.  If  his  wife  had  been  a 
dull  woman,  if  she  had  been  a  woman  without  ambitions  of 
her  own,  if  she  could  have  been  hoaxed  into  thinking  him 
the  equal  of  his  associates,  it  would  have  been  easier;  but 
Nathan  was  aware  that  Susan  Hornby  knew  to  the  finest 
detail  the  nature  of  his  failure  as  well  as  she  understood 
and  loved  the  best  in  him.  During  those  gloomy  days 
the  man  marvelled  at  the  gentleness  of  her  solicitations 
for  his  cheering  and  encouragement,  not  realizing  that 
woman  is  by  nature  faithful  where  man  is  appreciative  of 
her  devotion.  Appreciation!  that  had  been  the  keynote 
of  Nathan  Hornby's  attitude  toward  his  wife.  Susan 
had  always  known  what  she  ought  to  do,  what  she  wanted 
to  do,  and  what  it  was  best  for  her  to  do,  and  in  all  matters 
where  her  individual  affairs  were  concerned  Nathan  had 
never  interposed  coercion  nor  advice.  If  Susan  made 
mistakes,  her  husband  knew  that  they  were  the  mistakes 
of  the  head  and  not  of  the  heart,  and  left  her  to  correct 
them  in  her  own  way. 

Susan  Hornby  had  always  been  free,  and  now  the  walls 
of  love  and  trust  which  Nathan  Hornby  had  builded  about 
their  home  for  nearly  twenty  years  were  to  be  a  flawless 
rampart  behind  which  he  could  take  refuge  from  foes  with- 
out and  receive  help  from  within.  At  Nathan's  request 
his  wife  came  day  after  day  and  listened  to  the  discussions 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          71 

+ 

toward  the  end  of  the  session.  Nathan  sat  before  her 
dumb,  but  she  was  the  anchor  to  his  drifting  soul  as  the 
political  landslide  took  the  ground  out  from  under  his 
feet. 

"I  only  wisht  I'd  'a'  taken  you  in  on  this  thing  sooner," 
he  said  on  one  occasion,  and  remembered  those  first  weeks 
when  he  had  felt  self-sufficient,  and  had  made  false  moves 
at  the  State  House,  and  had  also  let  himself  be  inveigled  in- 
to buying  "  a  few  margins."  That  was  the  bitterest  drop  in 
his  cup.  Wheat  had  dropped  steadily  from  the  veryday  he 
had  begun  buying.  A  steady  decline  in  prices  was  un- 
thinkable, and  it  was  not  till  their  land  was  endangered 
that  the  trusting  man  began  to  take  alarm,  and  even  then 
he  let  the  speculators  who  profited  by  the  sales  induce  him 
to  make  one  more  wild  investment  to  save  that  which  he 
had  already  lost. 

His  certainty  that  his  neighbors  would  take  re- 
venge upon  him  for  political  differences  by  sly  prods 
regarding  speculation  was  of  slight  importance,  but  Susan 
was  to  be  humiliated  before  them! — Susan,  who  had  tried 
to  help  him  to  see  the  dangers  —  Susan,  who  did  not  com- 
plain when  she  was  called  upon  to  sign  the  deeds  to  the 
land  she  had  helped  to  win  from  the  Indians  and  the 
wilderness  of  uncultivated  things.  Nathan  remembered 
on  that  bitter  day  that  but  for  her  adventurous  spirit  he 
would  have  been  working  at  day's  wages  in  old^  Indiana, 
instead  of  having  a  home  and  being  an  active  member  of 
his  community  and  a  member  of  the  legislature  of  his  state, 
with  opportunities  to  prove  himself  a  man  in  the  world  of 


72  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

men.  He  had  failed,  and  his  failure  reacted  upon  her. 
It  was  not  the  loss  of  money  and  political  prestige  alone 
which  bit.  Another  phase  of  their  life  in  Topeka  added 
its  humiliation.  Nathan  had  wanted  his  wife  to  share 
his  political  honours  and  had  found  himself  ignorant  of 
every  means  by  which  these  things  could  be  brought  to  her. 
He  had  heard  of  gay  winters  at  the  Capital,  but  they  lived 
apart  from  it  all.  The  house  in  which  he  had  placed  her 
was  attractive  and  on  a  good  street,  but  the  men  whom  he 
met  at  the  State  House  soon  saw  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  through  knowing  Nathan  Hornby,  and  failed  to  ask 
their  wives  to  call  upon  his  wife. 

Disaster  is  in  exact  ratio  to  our  valuation  of  things. 
Although  Nathan  Hornby  had  lost  three  fourths  of  his 
land,  his  reputation  as  a  business  man  and  politician,  and 
his  faith  in  men,  he  still  had  left  the  one  essential  gift 
which  should  have  helped  him  to  win  again  all  that  which  he 
had  lost.  Susan  Hornby,  like  Ruth  of  old,  abandoned  all 
else  and  abode  with  her  husband  in  love,  cheering  him  at 
each  problematical  step,  and  saying  as  they  returned  from 
the  notary's  office  after  signing  away  their  land  to  a  stranger : 

"Never  mind,  Nate,  there  are  only  two  of  us,"  and  for 
the  first  time  since  their  little  daughter  had  been  taken 
from  them,  he  had  replied: 

"  Yes,  only  two,  thank  God!"  and  had  kissed  akwardly 
the  hand  laid  over  his  mouth,  and  Susan  had  seen  the 
glitter  of  a  tear  on  his  faded  lashes,  the  first  in  many  years. 

Susan  knew  that  Nathan  would  never  forget  the  failures 
of  that  year,  but  she  also  knew  that  the  comfort  of  accus- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          73 

* 

tomed  activities  would  help  to  fill  his  mind  and  keep  his 
thoughts  from  sore  introspection.  Here  in  Topeka  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  cogitate  and  reflect.  It  was  there- 
fore a  relief  to  her  when  Elizabeth  received  a  letter  from 
her  mother  summoning  her  home  to  teach  a  spring  term 
of  school.  While  at  any  other  time  she  would  have  been 
filled  with  indignation  at  the  recall  of  Elizabeth  just  as 
she  was  beginning  to  get  settled  to  her  new  work,  Susan 
Hornby  felt  that  Elizabeth  needed  education  less  at  this 
point  than  Nathan  needed  the  busy  seeding  season  to 
occupy  his  troubled  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  III 

REFORMS    NOT    EASY   TO    DISCUSS 

ELIZABETH  kept  her  tears  and  regrets  to  herself. 
She  cried  them  out  on  her  pillow  that  night,  all  the 
disappointments  and  handicaps  of  that  wonder- 
ful year  of  experience  and  aspiration,  but  as  she  cried  she 
planned  the  arrangements  of  her  going. 

The  letter  was  received  on  Thursday  night;  Elizabeth 
decided  that  she  would  go  for  her  books  the  next  day,  and 
say  her  farewells  to  desk,  recitation  room,  and  the  halls 
that  had  been  dear  to  her.  When  Elizabeth  was  called 
to  the  blackboard  that  afternoon  to  explain  a  problem  in 
algebra,  the  board,  the  pointer,  the  very  chalk  in  her 
fingers  cried  aloud  their  unity  with  her  life  and  thought, 
and  she  sat  down  when  it  was  over  with  a  great  throbbing 
in  her  throat  and  ears,  and  a  sense  of  overwhelming  dis- 
aster. 

As  Elizabeth  carried  her  books  home  under  her  arm, 
bulging  out  one  side  of  her  circular  like  an  unevenly  in- 
flated pudding-bag,  the  throbbing  continued,  and  she 
turned  into  the  less  frequented  streets  with  the  certainty 
that  she  was  going  to  disgrace  herself  with  tears  shed 
publicly.  It  had  been  a  trying  day,  and  in  spite  of  all 
efforts  her  emotions  broke  loose  before  she  could  gain  the 

74 


75 

shelter  of  home.  Hurrying  blindly  to  get  the  last  block 
covered,  she  nearly  dropped  her  books  as  she  turned  the 
corner. 

"The  Unknown"  was  coming  toward  her! 

Her  startled  glance  of  recognition  was  so  unexpectedly 
open  that  he  thought  that  he  had  probably  met  her.  He 
looked  puzzled,  but  lifted  his  hat  as  she  hurried  past  him, 
wiping  the  tears  from  her  face  with  her  free  hand. 

A  boy  called  from  across  the  street  an  instant  later. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  Pm  coming  over  for  some  help  on  that 
chem.  ex.  to-night." 

"All  right,"  came  the  answer  from  "The  Unknown,"  and 
mixed  with  Elizabeth's  mortifying  confusion  was  a  quick 
thrill  at  knowing  his  name. 

"Hugh!" 

No  opportunity  had  ever  come  to  meet  him  or  to  find  out 
what  his  name  might  be.  Elizabeth  was  conscious  that  her 
life  on  the  farm  had  made  of  her  an  impossible  mate  for 
this  young  man  who,  even  among  the  young  men  of  the 
city,  was  set  apart  by  a  peculiar  grace  and  culture.  She 
remembered  the  hat  which  had  not  merely  been  lifted 
from  the  head,  but  had  been  carried  below  the  chin  as  he 
bowed  distantly,  and  also  the  well-bred  curiosity  of  his 
look.  The  rest  of  the  leave-taking  was  made  easier  by 
having  met  him,  and  received  his  bow,  and  acquired  the 
glorious,  mystical  knowledge  of  his  name. 

To  round  out  the  experiences  of  the  winter,  fate  decreed 
that  Mr.  Farnshaw  could  not  come  for  her,  and  the  glitter 
of  the  inside  of  a  railway  coach,  with  its  brass  lamps, 


76  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

plush  seats,  and  polished  woods,  was  added  to  her  ex- 
perimental knowledge.  Luther  was  somehow  connected 
in  her  mind  with  the  day's  experiences  and  she  wished 
devoutly  that  she  could  talk  to  him  about  the  disappoint- 
ment of  leaving  her  school  before  the  end  of  the  term,  and 
of  this  journey  home  on  the  train,  and  of  Hugh.  Yes, 
Elizabeth  would  have  told  Luther  even  of  Hugh.  Luther 
Hansen  was  to  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  unchanged  and  un- 
changeable. The  transformations  of  her  own  life  did  not 
call  for  any  such  transformations  in  him.  He  was  Luther. 
It  had  been  his  mental  processes  which  had  won  and  now 
sustained  her  attachment  for  him.  Their  two  minds  had 
worked  together  as  one  mind  while  they  had  struggled 
with  the  innocent  problems  of  their  childhood  days,  and 
Elizabeth  still  felt  incomplete  without  him.  She  had 
been  less  conscious  of  Luther's  absence  the  first  year  than 
at  any  time  since  his  going  away,  but  in  Topeka,  and  now 
that  she  was  approaching  the  scene  of  their  association 
together,  Elizabeth  wanted  him  with  a  depth  of  homesick- 
ness she  had  never  felt  before.  It  was  hard  to  go  back  to 
the  old  battleground  and  not  find  him  there.  The  prospects 
in  store  for  her  at  home  made  her  shrink.  Elizabeth  fell 
to  wondering  if  any  improvement  in  that  home  were  pos- 
sible. She  had  had  them  quite  cheerfully  in  mind  all 
winter,  but  now  that  the  distance  between  her  home  and 
herself  lessened  rapidly  a  feeling  of  inadequacy  came  upon 
her,  and  the  glitter  of  the  wonderful  coach  in  which  she 
was  riding  was  forgotten.  Could  she  help?  The  only 
thing  that  was  very  clear  to  her  was  that  much  patience 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  77 

would  be  necessary.  At  Uncle  Nathan's  they  had  been 
gentle  and  loving  and  tolerant. 

"Can  I  make  them  see  it  —  and  see  how?"  she  asked 
herself  so  many  times  that  the  wheels  beneath  her  took 
up  the  refrain. 

"Gentle  and  loving  and  tolerant  —  gentle  and  loving 
and  tolerant  —  gentle  and  loving  and  tolerant,"  they 
sang  for  miles  as  she  sat  with  her  young  brow  puckered 
into  a  deep  frown. 

The  realities  of  life  were  thrust  into  the  foreground  the 
moment  Elizabeth  arrived,  and  for  new  reasons  she  missed 
Luther.  Mr.  Farnshaw  resented  the  new  circular. 

"Is  that  th'  damned  fool  kind  of  coat  she  was  talkin* 
about?"  he  inquired  as  his  daughter  alighted  from  the 
farm  wagon  at  the  kitchen  door  that  afternoon.  "It 
ain't  got  no  warmth,"  he  added  scornfully.  "Th'  ain' 
nothin'  to  it  but  looks,  an'  not  much  of  that.  What  'd  y' 
you  do  with  th'  coat  you  had?" 

The  old  heartsickening  contention  had  begun. 

"I've  got  it." 

"Well,  you  see  that  you  wear  it  and  don't  go  makin'  a 
fool  out  of  yourself  around  here.  I'd  'a'  kept  my  money 
if  I'd  'a'  knowed  it  was  goin'  t'  be  put  into  a  thing  that  'd 
swell  up  in  th'  wind  like  a  balloon." 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  saw  the  look  that  swept  over  Elizabeth's 
face  and  instinctively  ranged  herself  on  the  side  of  the 
young  girl.  She  saw  with  a  woman's  eyes  the  style  in 
the  garment  and  its  importance  in  her  daughter's  appear- 
ance. When  Elizabeth  took  it  off  lier  mother  took  it  to 


78          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  bedroom  to  put  it  away,  remarking  in  a  whisper  that 
it  made  her  look  quite  like  a  school-teacher  ought  to  look. 
She  was  secretly  glad  that  her  daughter  had  it,  since  it  was 
already  paid  for  and  she  did  not  have  to  make  it.  It 
would  be  the  most  observed  wrap  in  the  schoolhouse  the 
next  Sunday  if  she  could  only  persuade  Elizabeth  to  go  to 
meeting.  The  metal  clasp  had  virtues  all  its  own. 

"  I  think  it's  ever  so  much  more  stuck-up  than  if  it  had 
buttons,"  she  whispered. 

The  undertone  rasped  on  Elizabeth's  nerves.  Aunt 
Susan  never  differed  with  Uncle  Nate  in  undertones. 

"Let's  get  supper,  ma,"  she  said,  to  shake  herself  from 
threatened  despondency. 

But  though  Elizabeth  bustled  energetically  about  the 
getting  of  that  meal,  the  eating  of  it  was  not  a  very  great 
success.  Mr.  Farnshaw  discoursed  upon  the  senseless- 
ness of  prevailing  styles,  with  the  new  cape  plainly  in 
mind,  and  Mrs.  Farnshaw  nudged  her  daughter's  knee 
under  the  table  whenever  Elizabeth  seemed  inclined  to 
defensive  retorts. 

When  Mr.  Farnshaw  had  taken  the  milk  pails  on  his 
arm  and  repaired  to  the  corral,  however,  Mrs.  Farnshaw 
turned  from  a  belated  churning  and  administered  the 
caution  in  words: 

"Don't  ever  say  anything  back  to  your  pa,  Lizzie;  he 
gets  worse  and  worse  all  th'  time." 

Elizabeth  considered  the  subject  for  some  minutes. 
The  wear  and  tear  of  the  discords  of  her  mother's  life 
she  knew  were  far  more  responsible  for  her  mother's 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  79 

broken  health  than  anything  she  did  in  the  way  of  hard 
work.  It  seemed  a  good  time  to  begin  the  reforms  upon 
which  her  heart  was  set. 

"Ma,  I've  been  thinking  about  you  a  good  deal 
this  winter,"  she  began  slowly.  "Something  is  wrong 
with  us  all."  The  girl  thought  again  for  a  moment. 
Her  mother  watched  her  with  sharp  attention  and  waited. 
Reforms  were  not  easy  to  discuss  with  her  mother;  they 
were  very  different,  Elizabeth  and  her  mother.  Eliza- 
beth hardly  dared  express  her  longing  to  reorganize  their 
home.  If  only  she  could  effect  a  reformation!  Her 
heart  had  been  set  on  it  all  winter.  She  knew  now  how 
people  could  live  if  only  they  understood  how  to  do  it. 
Her  help  here  was  needed.  When  she  began  to  speak 
again  it  was  very  slowly,  and  with  a  careful  consideration 
of  the  words  she  was  using. 

"We  ought  all  of  us  to  be  different.  We  go  along  day 
after  day  hating  our  work,  scolding  and  fretting  at  each 
other,  and  never  really  happy,  any  of  us,  and  I've  been 
wondering  why?" 

Her  mother  eyed  her  closely.  Something  of  the  girl's 
mood  stirred  a  responsive  chord. 

"I've  thought  of  it  too,"  she  said,  "but  I  can't  never 
tell  why  it  is  though,  unless" —  she  spoke  slowly  and  Eliza- 
beth was  encouraged  —  "unless  it's  because  we  don't 
never  belong  to  ourselves.  Now  your  pa  wants  t'  run 
th'  house,  an'  th'  farm,  an'  you  children,  an'  me,  an* 
everything,  an'  I'm  so  tired,  an'  never  have  any  help,  that 
anybody'd  be  cross.  Nobody  ever  pities  me,  though. 


8o  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Here,  take  this  dasher  an'  finish  this  here  churnin'  for 
me." 

Elizabeth  took  the  dasher  into  her  own  hand  and  stood 
looking  down  meditatively  at  the  cream  gathered  about 
the  hole  in  the  churn  lid.  The  first  sentence  of  her 
mother's  remark  struck  her  attention. 

"Why  can't  folks  belong  to  themselves?"  she  asked, 
letting  the  dasher  rest  while  she  churned  mental  problems 
of  greater  moment. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  looked  up  quickly.  "Well,  if  you  think 
you  can  marry  an'  belong  t'  yourself,  just  you  try  it,"  she 
replied. 

"But,  ma,  n  a  man  loved  a  woman  couldn't  she  get  him 
to  leave  her  free?  Now " 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  cut  her  short.  "Love!  Men  don't 
know  how  to  spell  th'  word.  They  get  a  woman,  an' 
after  she's  got  children  they  know  she  can't  help  herself. 
She's  got  t'  stick  to  it  'cause  she  can't  raise  'em  alone  an' 
—  an'  it  don't  make  no  difference  whether  he  takes  care 
of  'em  or  not "  Words  failed  the  exasperated  woman. 

Elizabeth  studied  her  mother  with  a  new  interest.  She 
began  to  apply  her  mother's  words  to  her  own  case.  She 
knew  that  her  mother  had  wanted  her  services  this  spring 
as  much  as  her  father,  and  remembered  the  letter  calling 
her  home. 

"But  that  don't  cover  your  case,  ma.  You  love  pa 
more  than  you  do  us  children;  you  know  you  do,  and  we 
know  that  you  do  too." 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  usually  denied  the  most  obvious  thing 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN     81 

+ 

if  her  protective  instincts  prompted  her  to  do  so,  but  her 
daughter  had  hit  the  bull's-eye  so  exactly  that  for  the 
moment  she  had  no  defence  ready.  Elizabeth  was  en- 
couraged by  her  mother's  silence.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  talked 
so  much  that  it  was  not  easy  to  get  her  attention.  The 
young  girl,  glowing  with  the  discoveries  made  in  Aunt 
Susan's  home,  desired  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  causes 
of  inharmony  in  her  own  and  to  reorganize  it  on  a  better 
basis.  It  looked  as  if  she  was  to  be  granted  a  hearing 
upon  her  schemes. 

"I  don't  care  about  him  running  over  us  so  much,"  she 
said  diplomatically,  "but  you  let  him  run  over  you  in  the 
same  way.  Now  isn't  there  some  way  to  come  at  him 
and  get  him  to  see  it.  When  we're  alone  you  talk  about 
him  domineering  over  you,  but  when  he's  here  you  let 
him  say  anything  he  wants  to  and  you  never  try  to  help 
yourself.  Why  don't  you  strike  out  on  a  new  tack  and 
say  you  won't  do  it  when  he  makes  unreasonable  de- 
mands ?  Why  don't  you  reason  with  him  good-naturedly, 
if  you  think  that's  better,  without  crying,  I  mean,  and 
then  if  he  won't  listen  at  all 

"I  don't  know,  Lizzie,"  the  mother  interposed  slowly. 
"I  sometimes  think  I  will  an'  then  when  he's  here  some- 
thing won't  let  me.  It  ain't  what  he  says  to  you;  it's  — 
it's  —  something  he  does  to  you  when  he  looks  at  you. 
I'm  as  weak  as  water  when  he  looks  at  me.  I  don't  know 
why,  I  guess  it's  because  I've  always  give  up  —  an'  —  an' 
—  I  can't  tell  why.  A  woman  does  just  like  a  horse  — 
there's  more'n  one  kind  of  whippin'  a  man  can  give  —  an' 


82  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

she  gets  scared  —  an'  minds.  A  man  begins  right  from 
th'  first  t'  tell  her  what  to  do  an'  she  loves  'im  and  wants 
t'  please  'im,  an'  before  long  she  don't  have  her  way  no 
more'n  a  nigger." 

Some  of  the  truth  of  the  statement  came  within  the 
grasp  of  the  daughter,  who  was  looking  across  the  idle 
churn  with  her  mind  fixed  in  singleness  of  purpose  upon 
remedies,  and  yet  she  felt  that  there  was  some  other  ele- 
ment in  the  matter  not  yet  accounted  for.  The  hopeless 
tone  of  the  older  woman,  however,  goaded  her  young  spirit 
into  forgetting  the  caution  necessary  to  dealing  with  the 
subject.  Her  blood  fired  with  resentment  that  one  life 
should  be  so  crushed  by  another.  It  was  her  mother 
whose  shoulders  drooped  with  a  burden  too  heavy  for  her 
to  throw  off. 

"If  you're  sure  of  that,  why  don't  you  leave  him?  We 
children  are  old  enough  to  support  ourselves  and " 

"Lizzie!" 

Elizabeth  had  overshot  the  mark.  Her  mother  was  of 
another  generation. 

"But,  ma,"  the  girl  protested  quickly,  "I  don't 
say  leave  him  if  you  can  find  any  way  of  settling 
matters.  Can't  you  have  a  talk  with  him  —  and  get 
him  to  let  you  alone  if  you  are  willing  to  do  the  very 
best  you  can?  That's  the  best  way.  Have  you  tried 
it?" 

"No  I  hain't,"  the  mother  replied  shortly;  "it  wouldn't 
do  no  good.  But  if  my  talkin'  t'  you  is  goin'  t'  make  you 
say  such  things,  I  ain't  goin' t'  talk  t'  you  no  more.  When 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  83 

folks  is  married  they're  married,  an'  I  don't  believe  in 
partin',  nor  talk  of  partin'." 

"Well,  I  think  maybe  you  are  right,  but  if  you  and  pa 
are  going  to  live  together  you  ought  to  try  and  have  it  out, 

and  be  a  help  to  each  other  instead "     She  broke  off 

and  thought  a  moment,  "Now  Aunt  Susan  and  Uncle 
Nate " 

"Stop  right  there!"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  cried,  afire  with 
jealousy.  "That  woman's  brought  more  trouble  into  this 
house  a'ready  than  she'll  ever  take  out.  Your  pa's  been 
rantin'  about  her  all  winter  an'  —  an'  he  said  you'd  be 
pokin'  her  ways  into  our  faces  th'  very  day  you  got  home. 
I  'spect  she's  th'  one  that  got  it  into  your  head  to  talk  of 
partin',  most  likely." 

"Oh,  now,  ma,  don't  go  on  like  that.  You  don't  know 
about  Aunt  Susan.  She's  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
ever  suggest  such  a  thing.  That's  just  what  I  started  out 
to  say  —  they  never  have  a  word  about  anything.  It's 
the  loveliest  home  to  live  in,  and  I  was  just  thinking  that 
they  must  have  found " 

"I  said  I  didn't  want  t'  hear  nothin'  more  about  them 
folks,  an'  I  don't,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  cried,  caught  on  the 
other  horn  of  the  argument  and  even  more  deeply  offended 
than  before.  "She'll  most  likely  get  all  your  love  just 
like  she  got  all  your  father's  money  last  winter.  You 
needn't  mention  her  here  no  more.  Th'  school  directors 
'11  be  over  to  see  you  about  fillin'  out  that  term,  to-night," 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  ended  shortly,  and  turned  the  subject  of 
conversation  to  other  channels. 


84  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Me?  To  fill  out  the  term?"  Elizabeth  exclaimed  in 
surprise.  "What's  gone  wrong  with  the  school  here?  I 
don't  want  a  piece  of  a  term,  and  I  don't  want,  ever,  to 
teach  in  this  district  where  I've  gone  to  school." 

"Well,  you're  goin'  to,"  was  the  brief  reply.  "Your  pa 
an'  me  told  'em  you'd  take  it." 

"But  how  does  it  happen  that  the  school  is  without  a 
teacher?"  Elizabeth  asked  with  curiosity,  ignoring  the 
curt  disposal  of  her  services.  She  was  accustomed  to  the 
peremptory  measures  of  her  parents. 

"Jake  Ransom  run  him  out.  He  just  piked  off  after 
he  got  his  money  order  cashed  last  Saturday  mornin'." 

"And  you  expect  me  to  take  a  school  that's  all  upside 
down  from  that  kind  of  handling  —  and  me  without  any 
experience?" 

"You'll  take  it  an'  you'll  do  your  best,  an'  we  won't 
hear  no  more  about  it.  Here,  ma,  tie  up  this  finger," 
Mr.  Farnshaw  said.  He  had  just  come  in  from  the  barn 
in  time  to  hear  his  daughter's  objections. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  directors  came.  Family  pres- 
sure was  strong,  and  with  reluctance  Elizabeth  accepted 
the  month  yet  to  be  taught.  It  would  help  with  the  in- 
terest, and  that  interest  clouded  the  family  sky  to  the 
horizon  on  every  side  now.  Elizabeth  was  divided  be- 
tween a  fear  of  inability  to  manage  a  demoralized  school 
and  the  desire  to  add  twenty-five  dollars  to  the  family 
revenue.  In  anticipation  she  saw  the  unruly  boys  sup- 
ported and  encouraged  in  insubordination  by  such  as 
Sadie  Crane,  who  was  jealously  ready  to  resent  her  —  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  85 

former  playmate  —  in  the  role  of  authority.  And  to  put 
herself  right  with  the  governing  board  Elizabeth  told  the 
new  director  —  Sadie's  own  father — her  fears  on  that  score. 

"They  have  played  with  me  and  we  have  had  the  sort 
of  quarrels  all  children  have,  Mr.  Crane,  and  I  may  not 
be  able  to  manage  them." 

Lon  Crane  was  ignorant  and  uncouth,  but  big  of  heart, 
and  the  openness  of  the  discussion  pleased  him. 

"You  jest  take  that  school,  young  lady,  an'  I'll  see  that 
my  end  of  th'  thing's  kep'  up.  I'll  come  over  there  an 
thrash  every  mother's  son  of  'em  if  I  have  t'.  I'd  kind 
o'  like  t'  lick  a  few  of  'em  anyhow,  an'  if  my  young  ones 
give  any  trouble,  you  jes'  stop  in  on  your  way  home  an' 
I'll  see  that  it  don't  never  happen  ag'in." 

Half  the  battle  was  won;  she  let  him  hold  her  hand  a 
moment  at  leave-taking  while  he  reinforced  his  remarks 
by  many  repetitions. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Sis,"  he  repeated  as  he  backed  out  of 
the  door;  "you  needn't  be  afraid;  this  here  school  board's 
at  your  back.  We  know  it's  a  bad  school,  but,  by  ginger! 
we'll  see  that  you're  stood  by.  You  jes'  let  me  know  if 
that  there  Jake  Ransom  tries  any  more  monkeyshines  and 
I'll  tan  his  hide  till  it  '11  be  good  for  shoe  leather." 

It  occurred  to  Elizabeth  that  every  word  they  were 
saying  would  be  carried  to  the  boy  long  before  Monday 
morning  and  that  a  bad  matter  might  from  the  very  good- 
ness of  the  teller's  intentions  be  made  worse. 

"How  old  did  you  say  the  Ransom  boy  was?"  she  asked 
with  concern. 


86          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"  Fifteen  —  and  a  stinker  if  there  ever  was  one." 

"Then  I  think  maybe  I'll  have  a  show.  I  thought  he 
was  older  than  that,"  she  said  diplomatically.  "Now  may 
I  ask  that  what  we  have  said  be  kept  quiet?  I  would 
rather  like  to  have  a  fair  show  with  him  —  and  I'll  admit 
I'd  like  to  be  on  good  terms.  Promise  me  that  what  we 
have  said  may  be  a  secret  even  from  your  own  family  till 
after  Monday." 

Elizabeth  went  forward  and  spoke  confidentially.  The 
man  liked  her  even  better  than  before. 

"I'll  do  it,  by  jing!"  he  exclaimed.  "They'll  be  wantin' 
t'  know  soon's  ever  I  get  home  what  we  done  about  it,  an' 
fur  once  they'll  suck  their  thumbs.  Look  out  fur  that 
boy,  though;  he's  a  black  sheep  that  lives  around  in  any 
flock;  ain't  got  no  home.  I'll  help  if  I'm  needed." 

Elizabeth  listened  closely  to  all  that  she  heard  her 
brothers  say  about  Jake  Ransom,  trying  to  form  some 
estimate  of  his  character,  and  soon  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  whatever  else  the  boy  might  be,  he  was  at  least  not 
to  be  classed  as  a  sneak.  In  fact,  Jake  seemed  to  have 
rather  a  surprising  faculty  for  announcing  his  policies  be- 
fore he  began  action. 

When  school  opened  Monday  morning  the  bully  was 
easily  recognizable.  Elizabeth  had  gone  through  all  the 
stages  of  fright,  of  distaste  for  the  job,  and  lastly  of  set 
determination  to  show  this  district  that  she  could  take 
that  boy  and  not  only  conquer  him  but  become  friends 
with  him.  Instead  of  being  nervous  about  the  coming 
encounter,  however,  Elizabeth  grew  more  steady  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  87 

* 

self-reliant  as  she  felt  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  actually  be- 
came interested  in  the  small  affairs  preceding  the  ringing 
of  the  bell,  and  forgot  him  altogether  till  it  was  time  to  call 
the  roll. 

Jacob  Ransom's  name  came  last  on  the  list.  A  titter 
ran  around  the  room  when  it  was  called.  The  tone  of 
reply  was  louder  than  the  rest  and  defiant  of  manner. 
Elizabeth  looked  around  the  room  with  frank  inquiry  and 
the  titter  died  down.  She  let  her  gaze  wander  quietly 
and  naturally  down  the  aisle  to  the  seat  of  the  bully  and 
was  surprised  to  find  that  she  liked  the  boy. 

Closing  the  roll  book  and  following  an  instinct  rather 
than  a  formulated  plan,  Elizabeth  walked  slowly  down  the 
room  to  his  desk.  A  faint  giggle  behind  her  spoke  of  the 
hushed  expectations  of  trouble. 

"If  I  hear  any  more  laughing  in  this  room,  I  shall  in- 
quire into  the  matter,"  she  said  sternly,  facing  about  be- 
side Jake's  desk. 

The  instant  response  to  that  remark  gave  her  confidence 
in  her  own  powers.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
used  the  tone  of  authority  and  she  instinctively  recognized 
that  the  quality  of  her  personality  in  that  position  was 
good.  Both  she  and  Jake  Ransom  were  on  trial  in  that 


room. 

M 


So  you  are  the  'Jake'  I  have  heard  about?"  she  said, 
looking  him  frankly  in  the  face  and  letting  him  see  that 
she  was  measuring  him  openly.  "Is  your  name  Jake  or 
Jacob?"  she  asked,  as  if  it  were  an  important  matter  to 
get  settled. 


88  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Don't  call  me  Jacob,"  the  boy  snapped. 

"I  think  I  like  the  nickname  better  myself,"  Elizabeth 
replied  easily.  Her  good  fairy  beckoned  her  on.  "These 
children  are  all  laughing  because  they  think  we  are  going 
to  pull  each  other's  hair  presently.  We  will  show  them 
at  least  that  we  are  a  lady  and  a  gentleman,  I  trust.  Let 
me  see  your  books."  She  looked  at  him  with  such 
straightforward  sincerity  that  the  boy  returned  the  look 
in  the  same  spirit. 

The  books  were  produced  in  surprise;  this  was  walking 
into  the  middle  of  the  ring  and  bidding  for  an  open  fight, 
if  fight  they  must.  The  boy  loved  a  square  deal.  Jake 
Ransom's  sting  had  been  drawn. 

"You  are  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the  school.  Are 
you  preparing  for  the  high  school?"  Elizabeth  asked, 
emphasizing  her  surprise. 

"Lord,  no!"  the  boy  blurted  out. 

Elizabeth  looked  through  the  book  in  her  hand  slowly 
before  she  asked : 

"Why  don't  you?  I  was  only  about  as  far  along  as 
this  in  arithmetic  last  year.  Some  one  said  you  were 
ready  for  it." 

"Oh,  I  kin  do  'rithmetic  all  right,  but  I  ain't  no  good 
in  nothin'  else  —  an'  -  -  an'  —  wouldn't  I  look  fine  teachin' 
school?"  Jake  Ransom  exclaimed,  but  the  bully  melted 
out  of  him  by  way  of  the  fact  that  she  had  heard  good 
reports  of  him.  He  would  not  smoke  this  level-eyed  girl 
out  of  the  schoolhouse,  nor  sprinkle  the  floor  with  cayenne, 
as  was  the  usual  proceeding  of  the  country  bumpkin  who 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  89 

* 

failed  to  admire  his  teacher.  Jake  Ransom  was  not  really 
a  bully;  he  was  a  shy  boy  who  had  been  domineered  over 
by  a  young  popinjay  of  a  teacher  who  had  never  taught 
school  before  and  who  had  himself  many  lessons  to  learn 
in  life's  school.  The  boy  brought  out  his  slate,  spit  on  its 
grimy  surface  and  wiped  it  with  his  sleeve.  One  of  the 
buttons  on  his  cuff  squeaked  as  he  wiped  it  across,  and 
the  children  had  something  tangible  to  laugh  at.  Eliza- 
beth was  wise  enough  to  take  no  notice  of  that  laugh. 

Some  one  has  said  that  experience  is  not  as  to  duration 
but  as  to  intensity,  and  it  was  Elizabeth's  fate  to  live  at 
great  pressure  in  every  important  stage  of  her  life.  But 
for  the  fact  that  she  had  made  a  friend  of  Jake  Ransom 
that  month's  events  would  have  had  a  different  story. 
Sadie  Crane  took  exceptions  to  every  move  made  and 
every  mandate  issued  from  the  teacher's  desk.  The  spirit 
of  insubordination  to  which  the  entire  school  had  been 
subjected  that  winter  made  good  soil  for  Sadie's  tares. 
For  the  most  part  the  dissatisfaction  was  a  subtle  thing, 
an  undercurrent  of  which  Elizabeth  was  aware,  but  upon 
which  she  could  lay  no  finger  of  rebuke,  but  at  times  it 
was  more  traceable,  and  then,  to  the  young  teacher's 
surprise,  Jake  Ransom  had  ways  of  dealing  with  the 
offenders  outside  of  school  hours.  Sadie's  tongue  was 
sharp  and  she  was  accustomed  to  a  wholesome  attitude 
of  fear  among  the  scholars,  but  her  first  thrusts  at  Jake 
had  aroused  a  demon  of  which  she  had  little  dreamed. 
Jake  had  no  foolish  pride  and  would  admit  his  faults  so 
guilelessly  that  her  satire  fell  to  the  ground.  He  was  an 


90  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

entirely  new  sort  to  the  spiteful  child.  The  terrible  ad- 
vantage the  person  who  will  admit  his  faults  cheerfully  has 
over  the  one  who  has  pride  and  evades  was  never  more 
manifest.  Jake  Ransom  pointed  out  to  a  credulous  fol- 
lowing the  causes  of  Sadie's  disaffection,  and  left  the 
envious  child  in  such  a  state  of  futile  rage  that  she  was 
ready  to  burst  with  her  ill-directed  fury.  In  the  end  the 
month's  work  had  to  be  granted  the  tribute  of  success, 
and  the  term  closed  with  a  distinct  triumph  for  Elizabeth 
and  the  experience  of  a  whole  year's  trial  crowded  into 
four  short  weeks. 

At  home  things  were  not  so  fortunate.  The  young  girl 
had  come  back  from  Topeka  with  higher  ideals  of  home 
life,  of  personal  conduct,  and  of  good  manners  than  she 
had  ever  had  before.  It  was  so  good  to  have  something 
better,  and  Elizabeth  hungered  to  pass  along  the  trans- 
forming things  she  had  found;  but  when  she  tried  to  give 
the  boys  gentle  hints  about  correct  ways  of  eating  she  was 
greeted  with  guffaws  and  sarcastic  chuckles  about  hand- 
ling soup  with  a  fork.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  saw  nothing  but 
Susan  Hornby's  interference,  Mr.  Farnshaw  told  her  to 
attend  to  her  own  affairs  until  her  help  was  desired,  and 
when  the  child  was  rebuffed  and  unable  to  hide  her  dis- 
appointment and  retired  within  herself,  both  parents 
resented  the  evident  and  growing  difference  between  her 
and  themselves. 

It  was  to  escape  from  a  home  which  was  unendurable 
that  Elizabeth  flat-footedly,  and  for  the  first  time,  refused 
to  accede  to  her  parents'  authority.  When  the  matter  of 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  91 

a  spring  term  of  school  came  up  for  discussion  she  refused 
to  teach  the  home  school  again,  though  Mr.  Crane  had 
been  so  pleased  with  her  work  that  he  had  offered  it  to 
her.  When  asked  if  Jake  "Ransom  was  the  objection  she 
indignantly  asserted  to  the  contrary. 

"He  was  the  best  pupil  I  had,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't 
want  to  teach  at  home,  and  I  won't  do  it,"  and  that  was 
all  she  would  say.  She  secured  a  school  ten  miles  north 
of  her  home;  ten  miles  had  been  the  nearest  point  which 
she  would  consider. 

The  interest  was  at  last  paid,  but  when  the  summer 
groceries  were  paid  for  there  was  no  money  left  with  which 
to  go  back  to  Topeka,  and  it  was  necessary  to  teach  a 
winter  school.  Elizabeth  went  to  work  anew  to  collect 
funds  for  another  year's  schooling.  Mr.  Farnshaw  sold 
himself  short  of  corn  in  the  fall,  however,  and  the  young 
girl  was  expected  to  make  up  the  deficit.  In  the  spring 
the  interest  was  to  be  paid  again,  and  so  at  the  end  of  a 
year  and  a  half  the  situation  was  unchanged.  The  next 
year  a  threshing  machine  was  added  to  the  family  assets, 
and  again  the  cry  of  "help"  went  up,  again  Elizabeth's 
plans  were  sacrificed.  The  next  year  the  interest  was 
doubled,  and  for  four  years  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  worked 
against  insurmountable  odds. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    CULTURED   MAN 

WHEN  no  remonstrance  of  hers  availed  to  prevent 
the  constant  increase  of  expenses,  Elizabeth  saw 
that  her  assistance,  instead  of  helping  the  family 
to  get  out  of  debt,  was  simply  the  means  of  providing  toys 
for  experimentation,  and  that  she  was  being  quietly  but 
persistenly  euchred  out  of  all  that  her  heart  cherished. 
Mr.  Farnshaw  valued  the  machinery  he  was  collecting 
about  him,  Mrs.  Farnshaw  valued  the  money,  partly  be- 
cause in  one  way  and  another  it  added  to  the  family  pos- 
sessions, and  also  because  her  husband  having  found  out 
that  he  could  obtain  it  through  her  easier  than  by  direct 
appeal,  she  could  avoid  unpleasantness  with  him  by  in- 
sisting upon  her  daughter  giving  it  to  him;  but  Elizabeth's 
education  was  valued  by  no  one  but  Elizabeth,  and  unless 
she  were  to  learn  her  lesson  quickly  the  time  for  an  educa- 
tion to  be  obtained  would  have  passed. 

"It's  of  no  use  for  you  to  talk  to  me,  ma,"  Elizabeth 
said  the  spring  after  she  was  twenty  years  old,  "I  shall 
keep  every  cent  I  make  this  summer.  Pa  gets  into  debt 
and  won't  let  anybody  help  him  out,  and  I  am  going  to  go 
to  Topeka  this  fall.  I'm  years  older  right  now  than  the 
rest  of  the  scholars  will  be  —  not  a  single  pupil  that  was 

92 


NOW   LOOK   HERE,    LIZZIE,      .      .      .      YOUR   PA   EXPECTS   IT 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  93 

* 

there  when  I  went  before  will  be  there  —  and  I'm  going 
to  go.  I  don't  ever  intend  to  pay  the  interest  on  that  old 
mortgage  again  —  it's  just  pouring  money  into  a  rat- 
hole!" 

It  was  early  morning  and  they  were  planting  potatoes. 
Her  mother  stood  with  her  back  turned  toward  the  raw 
April  wind  as  they  talked,  her  old  nubia  tied  loosely  about 
her  head  and  neck,  and  her  hands  red  with  the  cold. 

"Now  look  here,  Lizzie" — Mrs.  Farnshaw  always  re- 
fused to  use  the  full  name  —  "your  pa  expects  it." 

"Of  course  he  expects  it;  that's  why  he  keeps  adding  to 
the  mortgage;  but  that  don't  make  any  difference.  I'm 
going  to  Topeka  this  fall  just  the  same.  I  am  not  going 
to  pay  one  dollar  on  the  interest  in  May,  and  you  can  tell 
pa  if  you  like." 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  was  alarmed.  Elizabeth  had  protested 
and  tried  to  beg  off  from  the  yearly  stipend  before,  but 
never  in  that  manner.  The  tone  her  daughter  had  used 
frightened  her  and  she  quivered  with  an  unacknowledged 
fear.  Her  husband's  wrath  was  the  Sheol  she  fought 
daily  to  avoid.  What  would  become  of  them  if  the  in- 
terest were  not  paid? 

Added  to  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  personal  desire  to  command 
her  daughter's  funds  there  was  the  solid  fear  of  her  hus- 
band's estimate  of  her  failure.  She  could  not  look  in  his 
eye  and  tell  him  that  she  was  unable  to  obtain  their 
daughter's  consent.  To  live  in  the  house  with  him  after 
Lizzie  had  told  him  herself  was  equally  unthinkable,  for 
his  wrath  would  be  visited  upon  her  own  head. 


94  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"My  child!  My  child!"  she  cried,  "you  don't  have  to 
be  told  what  he  will  do  t'  me." 

There  was  a  long  pause  while  she  sobbed.  The  pause 
became  a  compelling  one;  some  one  had  to  speak. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  ma,"  Elizabeth  said  doggedly  after  a  time. 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  know  what  it  means.  Come  on  to 
th'  house.  I  can't  work  no  more,  an'  I've  got  t'  talk  this 
thing  out  with  you." 

They  picked  up  the  pails  and  the  hoe  with  which  they 
had  been  covering  the  hills  and  went  to  the  house,  carry- 
ing a  burden  that  made  a  potato-planting  day  a  thing  of 
no  consequence. 

The  mother  busied  herself  with  the  cob  fire  as  she 
argued,  and  Elizabeth  put  away  the  old  mittens  with 
which  she  had  protected  her  hands  from  the  earth  which 
never  failed  to  leave  them  chapped,  before  she  picked  up 
the  broom  and  began  an  onslaught  on  the  red  and  fluffy 
dust  covering  the  kitchen  floor 

"You  see,  you'll  go  off  t'  teach  an'  won't  know  nothin' 
about  it,  an'  -  -  an'  -  -  I'll,  have  it  t'  bear  an'  -  The 

pause  was  significant. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  watched  her  daughter  furtively  and 
strained  her  ears  for  signs  of  giving  up.  At  last  Elizabeth 
said  slowly: 

"  I'm  as  sorry  as  I  can  be,  ma,  but  —  I'm  twenty  years 
old,  and  I've  got  to  go." 

There  was  no  doubting  that  her  mind  was  made  up, 
and  yet  her  mother  threw  herself  against  that  stone  wall 
of  determination  in  frantic  despair. 


95 

"Lizzie,  Lizzie,  Lizzie!  I  can't  live  an'  have  you  do  it. 
You  don't  know,  child,  what  I  have  to  bear." 

"Now  look  here,  ma;  you  won't  let  me  have  things  out 
openly  with  pa  and  come  to  an  understanding  with  him, 
and  when  I  told  you  four  years  ago  that  you  ought  to 
leave  him  if  you  couldn't  live  with  him  peaceably  you 
talked  as  if  I  had  committed  some  sort  of  sin.  You  and 
pa  are  determined  to  fuss  it  out  and  I  can't  help  it,  and 
I've  sacrificed  four  good  years  to  you  and  the  interest  is 
bigger  than  it  ever  was.  I  haven't  helped  you  one  bit. 
If  you  want  to  go  on  living  with  him  you'll  do  it  in  your 
own  way,  but  if  your  life  is  unbearable,  and  you  want  to 
leave  him,  I'll  see  that  you  are  provided  for.  The  law 
would  give  you  a  share  of  this " 

The  noise  of  the  broom  and  of  their  voices  had  pre- 
vented them  from  hearing  any  other  sounds,  but  a  shadow 
fell  across  the  middle  door  and  Josiah  Farnshaw  entered 
the  kitchen  a  blazing  picture  of  wrath.  Before  he  could 
speak,  however,  the  dog  on  the  doorstep  barked  sharply  at 
a  stranger  who  was  close  upon  him,  and  the  irate  father  was 
obliged  to  smooth  his  manner. 

Elizabeth  escaped  to  the  bedroom  as  her  father  crossed 
to  the  kitchen  to  see  what  the  man  wanted,  and  Mr.  Farn- 
shaw went  on  out  to  the  pens  a  moment  later  with  the 
"hog  buyer,"  as  the  man  proved  to  be. 

"My  God!  My  God!  What  have  you  done?"  Mrs. 
Farnshaw  cried,  following  Elizabeth  into  the  bedroom. 

"I  don't  know,  ma,"  the  girl  cried,  as  white  as  her 
mother.  "I'm going  to  get  off  to  hunt  up  a  school  while 


96  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  man  is  here.  The  sun  has  come  out  and  it's  only 
ten  o'clock.  If  you're  afraid,  come  along,"  she  advised, 
as  she  hurried  into  a  clean  calico  dress  and  took  down  her 
old  black  riding  skirt  from  its  nail. 

"Lizzie!"  the  mother  exclaimed,  as  much  afraid  of  the 
advice  as  she  was  of  her  husband. 

There  was  little  time  left  her  for  argument,  for  Elizabeth 
hurriedly  tied  a  thick  green  veil  over  her  plain  straw  hat 
and  left  the  house.  The  hog  pens  were  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  stable  from  the  house  and  Elizabeth  soon  had 
Patsie,  now  a  mare  of  five  years,  saddled  and  bridled. 

The  air  was  softening,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that  it 
was  going  to  rain,  as  she  hurried  out  of  the  yard,  but  she 
did  not  wait  to  get  extra  wraps  nor  her  umbrella.  The 
best  thing  to  do,  she  knew,  was  to  get  away  while  that 
hog  buyer  was  there  and  trust  to  luck  for  the  edge  of  her 
father's  anger  to  wear  away  before  she  returned. 

Fortunately  she  had  worn  her  old  coat,  which  was  heavy 
and  waterproof,  and  when  it  did  begin  to  rain  half  an 
hour  later,  instead  of  turning  back  she  pressed  forward, 
more  afraid  of  the  thunderstorm  at  home  than  any  to  be 
encountered  on  the  way. 

Elizabeth  rode  steadily  southward,  thinking  out  her 
share  in  this  new  quarrel  in  which  she  had  embroiled  her 
parents,  unaware  that  as  it  drizzled  it  became  warmer  and 
that  the  day  had  become  spring-like  and  endurable.  She 
began  to  question  the  propriety  of  having  suggested  drastic 
measures  to  her  mother.  "Till  death  do  you  part"  rang 
in  her  ears  in  spite  of  the  certainty  that  the  union  of  her 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN  97 

mother  and  her  father  was  an  unholy  thing  which  was 
damning  them  more  surely  than  a  separation  could  pos- 
sibly do.  Of  only  one  thing  could  Elizabeth  be  sure:  she 
saw  without  mistake  at  last  that  she  must  decide  upon 
her  own  duties  hereafter  without  listening  to  a  mother 
who  could  not  decide  anything  for  herself. 

The  director  of  the  district  to  which  Elizabeth  first 
turned  her  steps  was  away  from  home  when  she  arrived 
and  it  was  necessary  to  consider  where  she  would  go  next. 
After  some  thought  she  decided  to  try  the  Chamberlain 
district,  which  lay  between  there  and  her  home.  It  was 
eight  miles  from  the  Farnshaw  homestead  and  far  enough 
away  so  that  she  would  not  have  to  board  with  her  parents 
and  she  determined  to  try  to  meet  the  school  board,  which 
met  usually  on  the  first  Tuesday  night  in  April. 

The  fact  of  facing  around  toward  the  north  again  set 
iier  to  considering  what  course  of  action  she  would  pursue 
when  she  went  back  home. 

"I'll  go  back,  I  guess,  and  be  patient  with  whatever  he 
feels  like  doing  with  me,"  she  resolved,  reflecting  that 
from  her  father's  standpoint  he  had  a  very  real  grievance 
against  her.  "It  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  him  to  hear 
me  advising  ma  to  leave  him.  I  guess  I  owe  it  to  them 
to  try  to  straighten  it  up.  But  I  don't  believe  it  can  ever 
be  straightened  up,"  she  ended  doubtfully. 

Elizabeth  was  passing  a  grove  of  young  cottonwood 
trees  and  was  so  absorbed  in  her  thoughts  that,  becoming 
only  half  conscious  that  Patsie  was  lagging  and  that  time 
was  passing  rapidly,  she  gave  her  a  slap  with  the  strap  in 


98    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

her  hand,  urging  the  horse  to  a  faster  pace  as  she  rounded 
the  corner  of  the  section  without  looking  up.  Patsie 
broke  into  a  long,  easy  lope.  Suddenly  Elizabeth  be- 
came conscious  of  the  noise  of  other  hoofs  splashing 
toward  them.  Glancing  up,  she  saw  a  farm  team  almost 
upon  them,  whose  driver  was  stooped  to  avoid  the  rain. 

Elizabeth  pulled  her  horse  up  sharply,  and  to  one  side. 
The  trail  was  an  old  one,  and  the  sloping,  washed-out  rut 
was  deep.  Patsie  lost  her  footing  and,  after  a  slipping 
plunge  or  two,  fell  floundering  on  her  side  before  her  mis- 
tress could  support  her  with  the  rein.  Active  as  a  boy, 
Elizabeth  loosened  her  foot  from  the  stirrup  and  flung 
herself  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  out  of  the  way  of  the 
dangerous  hoofs.  Elizabeth  slipped  as  her  feet  struck 
the  ground  and  she  landed  on  "all-fours"  in  the  grass. 

The  young  man,  suddenly  awake  to  what  had  happened, 
was  out  of  his  high  seat  and  had  the  mare  by  the  bridle 
before  its  rider  had  fairly  scrambled  up. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  Are  you  hurt?"  he  called  across 
the  wagon,  when  Patsie,  still  nervous  from  her  fall,  hung 
back  as  far  as  her  rein  would  permit  and  not  only  refused 
to  be  led  but  threatened  to  break  away  altogether. 

"Not  at  all!  Not  a  bit!  Whoa!  Patsie!  Whoa! 
I  ady!"  Elizabeth  cried,  coming  around  to  them,  and 
extending  a  smeary,  dripping  hand  for  the  taut  rein. 

The  young  man  let  her  step  in  front  of  him  and  put  her 
hand  on  the  strap,  but  kept  his  own  there  as  well,  while 
they  both  followed  the  backing  horse  with  braced  steps, 
the  girl  talking  soothingly  to  the  frightened  animal  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN    99 

while.  The  naturally  docile  filly  responded  to  the  voice 
she  had  heard  from  earliest  colthood  and  soon  let  Eliza- 
beth approach  close  enough  to  put  her  hand  on  the  bit. 
The  seriousness  of  the  affair  gave  way  to  the  comic  when 
the  horse  began  to  snatch  bits  of  grass  from  the  roadside. 

The  young  couple  laughed  and  looked  at  each  other 
rather  sheepishly  as  they  saw  that  further  cooperation  was 
not  needed.  They  untangled  their  hands  where  they 
had  slipped  tight  together  in  the  loop  of  the  bridle  rein  as 
they  had  followed  the  rearing  beast. 

"She  has  broken  the  girth,"  the  young  man  said,  lifting 
his  hat  ceremoniously  and  with  a  manner  not  born  of  life 
on  the  farm. 

He  threw  the  stirrup  over  the  top  of  the  saddle  and 
fished  under  the  now  quiet  horse  for  her  dangling  sur- 
cingle. Having  secured  it,  he  untied  the  strap  and  ex- 
amined it  to  see  if  it  were  sufficiently  long  to  permit  of 
tying  another  knot.  Deciding  that  it  was,  he  tied  one 
end  in  the  ring  in  the  saddle  and,  passing  the  other  through 
the  ring  of  the  girth,  drew  it  up  with  a  strong,  steady  pull. 
His  side  face  against  the  saddle,  as  he  pulled,  permitted 
him  to  examine  curiously  the  young  girl  in  front  of  him. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  hurt  at  all?"  he  asked  solicit- 
ously. 

"Not  a  bit  —  only  muddy,"  she  replied,  stooping  to 
brush  her  earth-stained  hands  through  the  rain-laden 
grass  at  the  roadside.  He  was  still  working  with  the 
straps  when  her  hands  were  cleaned  and  watched  her 
openly  as  she  shielded  her  face  behind  Patsie's  head  while 


ioo         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

waiting.  The  water  dripped  from  the  ends  of  her  braided 
brown  hair  and  the  long  dark  lashes  of  her  brown  eyes 
were  mist-laden  also.  He  examined  all  the  accoutre- 
ments of  her  mount  minutely.  When  at  last  it  occurred 
to  her  that  he  was  giving  them  extra  attention  for  the 
sake  of  extending  the  time  Elizabeth's  eyes  lighted  up 
with  a  humorous  twinkle.  The  young  man  caught  and 
rightly  interpreted  the  expression  and  was  embarrassed. 

"I  think  it's  all  right,"  he  said  quickly.  "I'm  awfully 
sorry  to  have  been  so  stupid.  I  never  thought  of  meeting 
any  one  in  all  this  rain." 

Elizabeth  took  that  as  a  reflection  upon  her  presence 
out  of  doors  on  such  a  day,  and  leading  her  horse  down 
into  the  deep  road  sprang  into  the  saddle  from  the  bank 
before  he  could  offer  his  assistance. 

"Thank  you  for  helping  me,"  she  said,  and  was  off 
toward  the  west  before  he  could  speak. 

She  was  gone,  and  he  could  do  nothing  but  look  after 
her  helplessly. 

"Your  horse  has  lamed  itself,"  he  called  when  he  was 
at  last  able  to  concern  himself  with  such  matters,  but 
either  the  spattering  hoofbeats  prevented  her  hearing  his 
voice  or  she  was  determined  not  to  reply;  he  could  not 
tell  which.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  return  to  his 
wagon. 

"Confound  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  you've  made  an 
ass  of  yourself  and  let  her  get  away  without  rinding  out 
who  she  was  or  where  she  lived."  He  liked  her  —  and  he 
was  an  ass!  He  anathematized  himself  openly. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         101 

» 
When  well  away  from  the  man,  Elizabeth  saw  that  his 

observation  regarding  the  prospects  of  meeting  people  on 
such  a  day  was  a  perfectly  natural  one  and  not  aimed  at 
her  at  all.  She  laughed  at  the  spectacle  she  was  sure  she 
must  have  presented,  and  wished  now  that  she  had  not 
been  in  such  a  hurry  in  leaving  him.  Here  was  a  man 
worth  looking  at.  The  gesture  as  he  had  lifted  his  hat 
indicated  refinement. 

"Curious  that  I  haven't  seen  him  —  he  lives  here  some 
where,"  she  pondered,  and  now  that  she  could  not  find 
out  she  rated  herself  severely  for  the  embarrassment  which 
was  apt  to  assail  her  at  critical  moments. 

Patsie  limped  miserably,  and  Elizabeth  brought  her 
down  to  a  walk  and  let  her  droop  along  the  old  country 
road,  and  speculated  on  this  new  specimen  of  masculinity 
which  had  dropped  from  the  skies  to  puzzle  and  delight 
her  soul. 

The  rain  beat  heavily  now,  and  Elizabeth  began  to  take 
her  situation  into  account  after  thinking  over  the  stranger 
a  few  minutes.  There  was  a  perfect  deluge  of  water  from 
the  burdened  sky,  and  though  no  sign  of  a  house  could  be 
seen,  she  knew  she  could  not  be  far  from  the  Chamberlain 
homestead;  but  the  ground  was  becoming  more  and  more 
soggy,  and  her  garments  were  not  of  the  heaviest.  Patsie's 
feet  went  ploop,  ploop,  ploop,  in  the  soft,  muddy  road. 
Elizabeth  urged  her  to  the  fastest  possible  walking  speed 
in  spite  of  her  lameness.  To  trot  or  gallop  was  impossible, 
and  the  young  horse  slipped  now  and  then  in  a  manner 
which  would  have  unseated  a  less  skilful  rider. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  sodden  Kansas  road  was  aflood  with  this  spring 
rain.  Patsie  laboured  heavily  and  Elizabeth  gave  her- 
self up  to  her  cogitations  again.  Her  mind  had  reacted 
to  more  pleasant  subjects  than  home  affairs. 

It  had  been  a  dreary,  disheartening  ride,  and  yet  it  had 
had  its  compensations,  for  was  not  the  rider  young  and 
the  earth  filled  with  the  freshness  of  spring?  The  short 
and  tender  grass  bordered  the  road  to  the  very  wheel-ruts; 
the  meadow  larks  sang  regardless  of  the  rain,  or  mayhap 
in  sheer  meadow-lark  delight  because  of  it.  To  the 
south  a  prairie  chicken  drummed,  and  a  cow  called  to  her 
calf,  whose  reply  came  from  a  point  still  farther  in  the 
distance.  At  the  sound  of  the  cow's  lowing  Elizabeth 
Farnshaw  peered  delightedly  through  mists. 

"I  knew  it  couldn't  be  much  farther,  Patsie,"  she  said, 
leaning  forward  and  patting  the  neck  of  the  dripping 
horse.  Little  spurts  of  water  flew  spatteringly  from  under 
the  affectionate  palm,  and  Elizabeth  shook  her  bare  hand 
to  free  it  from  the  wet  hairs  which  adhered  to  it,  laughing 
at  her  rainsoaked  condition. 

It  was  indeed  a  time  for  seeking  shelter. 

Presently  the  rattle  of  a  chain  was  heard  nearby,  then 
the  outlines  of  a  straw  stable  were  seen,  and  from  the  fore- 
ground of  mist  a  man  appeared  unhitching  a  team  of 
horses  from  a  large  farm  wagon.  Patsie  gave  a  little 
nicker  of  anticipation  as  she  scented  the  sacks  of  oats, 
carefully  covered,  in  the  back  of  the  wagon.  The  old 
man  rose  from  his  stooping  position  in  unfastening  the 
tugs  and  faced  the  newcomer. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         103 

t 

"Why,  it's  Miss  Farnshaw!  Gee  whiz!  Be  you  a  duck 
t'  be  out  on  such  a  day  as  this?"  he  inquired,  stepping 
forward  when  he  saw  that  she  was  coming  in.  Then 
chuckling  at  his  own  humour,  he  added: 

"I  guess  you  be  a  goslin'  —  a  goslin'  bein'  a  young 
goose,  you  know." 

Elizabeth  Farnshaw  laughed.  "But  my  feathers  aren't 
turning  the  rain,  Mr.  Chamberlain."  It  was  the  second 
time  within  the  hour  that  she  had  been  reminded  that 
women  were  not  expected  to  go  out  of  doors  in  a  rainstorm. 

"That's  because  you're  such  a  young  goose,  you  know; 
you  ain't  got  no  feathers  yet,  it's  only  down." 

"Fairly  caught!"  she  replied,  backing  her  horse  around 
so  that  the  rain  would  come  from  behind,  "Tell  me,  does 
the  school  board  meet  to-night?" 

"Oh,  ho!"  the  farmer  replied,  "that's  th'  way  th'  wind 
blows,  is  it?  Now  look  here,  young  lady,  if  you  be  as 
prompt  in  lickin'  them  youngsters  in  season  an'  out  o' 
season  as  you  be  in  lookin'  up  schools  I  guess  you'll  do. 
Yes,  sir-ee,  th'  school  board  meets  to-night  an'  you  jes' 
come  t'  th'  house  an'  have  a  bite  t'  eat  an'  we'll  see  what 
we  can  do  for  you.  Why,  stars  an*  garters ! "  he  exclaimed 
as  he  lifted  her  down  from  her  horse,  "Liza  Ann  '11  have 
t'  put  you  in  th'  oven  along  with  th'  rest  of  th'  goslins." 
Then  he  added:  "Now  you  run  along  to  th'  house,  an' 
I'll  take  this  horse  in  hand.  I  judge  by  its  nicker  you 
didn't  stop  for  no  dinner  to-day." 

Mrs.  Chamberlain  appeared  at  the  door  and  her  hus- 
band called  to  her, 


104         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Liza  Ann!  here's  Miss  Farnshaw,  as  wet  as  that  last 
brood  of  chickens  you  found  under  th'  corn-planter.  Give 
'er  a  dry  pair  of  shoes  an'  take  'er  wet  coat  off  o'  'er." 

As  Elizabeth  turned  to  her  hostess,  the  old  man  ex- 
claimed, "Why,  Gosh  all  Friday,  what's  happened  to 
your  horse?" 

"I'm  awfully  worried  about  Patsie's  foot.  She  slipped 
in  the  muddy  road  this  afternoon.  Do  you  suppose  it'll 
lay  her  up?  It's  a  busy  time  and  pa  needs  her." 

"I  don't  know;  it's  in  a  ticklish  place.  I'll  rub  it  good 
with  Mustang  liniment;  that's  th'  best  thing  I  know  of. 
Now  you  run  on  to  th'  house;  you're  wet  enough  t'  wake 
up  lame  yourself  in  th'  mornin',"  he  admonished,  straight- 
ening up,  with  his  hands  on  the  small  of  his  back. 

Havring  dismissed  Elizabeth,  Silas  Chamberlain  took 
Patsie's  saddle  from  her  back  and  laid  it  across  Old 
Queen's  harness,  taking  his  own  team  into  the  barn  first. 
Old  Queen  was  an  unsocial  animal  and  it  was  necessary 
to  tie  her  in  the  far  stall  when  a  strange  horse  was  brought 
into  the  barn,  as  she  had  a  way  of  treating  ntruders  badly. 
She  sniffed  at  the  saddle  distrustfully  as  Mr.  Chamberlain 
tied  her  up. 

"Whoa!  there!"  he  said  emphatically,  giving  her  a 
slap  on  the  flank  which  sent  her  into  the  opposite  corner 
of  the  stall.  "You  needn't  be  s'  all  fired  touchy  you  can't 
let  a  strange  saddle  come  into  th'  stall.  That  saddle's 
carried  th'  pluckiest  girl  in  this  end  of  th'  county  t'day. 
Gosh-a-livin's!  Think  of  her  a  comin'  out  on  a  day  like 
this,  an'  smilin'  at  them  wet  feathers,  as  she  called  'em, 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         105 

4 

's  if  it  didn't  make  no  difference  bein'  wet  at  all.  Now  if 
John  Hunter  gets  his  eyes  on  'er  there'll  be  an  end  of  ma's 
board  money;  an'  then  how'll  I  finish  payin'  fur  that  sewin' 
machine?" 

In  the  house,  after  some  time  spent  in  trying  to  be 
stiffly  polite  to  her  guest,  the  unwilling  hostess  began  the 
supper.  The  potatoes  were  put  on  to  fry,  the  kettle 
sang,  and  Mrs.  Chamberlain  sat  down  to  grind  the  coffee 
in  a  mill  which  she  grasped  firmly  between  her  knees. 

"Maybe  you  'uns  don't  drink  coffee?"  she  remarked 
anxiously,  stopping  to  look  over  at  the  girl,  who  sat  near 
the  fire  drying  her  shoes  in  the  oven. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Elizabeth  answered  slowly,  coming  back 
reluctantly  from  a  consideration  of  the  handsome  stranger 
she  had  met;  "that  is,"  she  added  confusedly,  "I  never 
drink  anything  but  water,  anyhow." 

Mrs.  Chamberlain  gave  a  relieved  sigh.  "I  was  afraid 
you'd  rather  have  tea,  an'  I  ain't  got  no  tea  in  th'  house. 
Bein'  farmin'  season  now  it  seems  as  if  I  can't  never  get 
t'  town." 

Just  then  one  adventurous  chick  which,  with  the  rest 
of  the  brood,  had  been  discovered  under  the  corn-planter 
earlier  in  the  day,  jumped  out  of  the  box  in  which  it  had 
been  kept  near  the  fire.  Mrs.  Chamberlain  set  the  mill 
on  the  table  and  gave  chase  to  the  runaway. 

"That's  th'  peertest  chicken  of  th'  lot,"  she  remarked  as 
she  again  enveloped  him  in  the  old  woollen  skirt,  from  the 
folds  of  which  came  much  distressed  cheeping.  "They're 
hungry,  I  think,"  she  added,  reaching  for  a  bowl  of  yellow 


io6        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

cornmeal  which  she  mixed  with  water.  Lifting  the  skirt 
off  the  little  brood  carefully,  and  giving  it  a  cautious  shake 
to  assure  herself  that  no  unwary  chick  was  caught  in  its 
folds,  she  dropped  some  of  the  mixture  in  the  middle  of 
the  box,  tapping  lightly  with  the  spoon  to  call  the  atten- 
tion of  the  chicks  to  its  presence.  The  chickens  pecked 
hungrily,  and  there  was  a  satisfied  note  in  the  twitterings 
of  the  downy  little  group  as  Mrs.  Chamberlain  turned  to 
the  preparation  of  her  supper  again. 

"Yes,  he's  th'  peertest  chicken  of  th'  lot;  an'  I'd  most 
as  soon  he'd  been  more  like  th'  rest  —  he's  always  gettin' 
out  of  th'  box." 

"Now,  Liza  Ann,  you  ain't  thinkin'  nothin'  of  th'  kind," 
said  her  husband,  who  had  hurried  with  his  evening  chores 
so  as  to  get  a  chance  to  visit  with  the  company  and  had 
just  come  in  from  the  stable.  "You  know  you  said  your- 
self, 'Thank  goodness,  there's  one  on  'em  alive,'  when  you 
fished  'em  out  from  under  that  planter.  Th'  same  thing's 
keeping  'im  on  th'  go  now  that  kept  'im  from  givin'  up  as 
quick  as  th'  rest  did  then.  Chicken's  is  like  boys,  Miss 
Farnshaw,"  Silas  continued,  addressing  Elizabeth;  "th' 
ones  that  makes  th'  most  trouble  when  thy' re  little,  you 
can  count  on  as  bein'  th'  most  likely  when  they're  growed 
up.  Now,  Liza  Ann  there  counted  on  that  chicken  soon's 
ever  she  set  eyes  on  'im." 

Having  washed  his  face  and  hands  in  the  tin  basin  on 
the  bench  just  outside  the  kitchen  door,  Silas  Chamberlain 
combed  his  curly  locks  of  iron  gray  before  the  little  looking 
glass  which  was  so  wrinkled  that  he  looked  like  some 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         107 

fantastic  caricature  when  mirrored  on  its  surface.  After 
a  short  grace  at  the  opening  of  the  meal,  he  passed  a  dish 
of  potatoes,  remarking: 

"We  ain't  much  hands  t'  wait  on  th'  table,  Miss  Farn- 
shaw;  you'll  have  t'  reach  an'  help  yourself." 

"Who's  this  plate  for?"  Elizabeth  asked  at  last,  desig- 
nating the  vacant  place  at  her  side. 

"That's  John's,"  said  Mrs.  Chamberlain. 

"John  Hunter's,  Miss  Farnshaw,"  said  Silas.  "He's 
our  boarder,  an'  th'  likeliest  young  man  in  these  parts." 
Then  he  added  with  conviction,  "You  two  be  goin'  t'  like 
each  other." 

A  girlish  blush  covered  the  well-tanned  cheeks,  and  to 
hide  her  embarrassment  Elizabeth  said  with  a  laugh: 

"Describe  this  beau  ideal  of  yours." 

"Now,  Si,  do  let  th'  child  alone,"  Mrs.  Chamberlain 
protested.  "He's  always  got  t'  tease,"  she  added  dep- 
recatingly. 

"Sometimes  I  be  an'  sometimes  not.  Miss  Farnshaw 
made  me  think  of  you  some  way  when  I  see  her  this  after- 
noon." Noting  his  wife's  look  of  surprise,  he  explained: 
"I  mean  when  I  see  you  down  to  th'  Cherryvale  meetin' 
house.  An'  it  didn't  take  me  long  t'  make  up  my  mind 
after  that,  neither." 

Mrs.  Chamberlain  smiled  at  the  mention  of  girlhood 
days,  but  said  nothing,  and  Silas  turned  to  Elizabeth  again 
with  his  honest  face  alight  with  memories  of  youth. 

"You  see,  Miss  Farnshaw,  I'd  gone  out  on  th'  hunt  of  a 
stray  calf,  an'  an  unexpected  shower  came  on  —  th'  kind 


io8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  rains  with  th'  sun  still  a  shinin'  —  an'  I  dug  my  heels 
into  old  Charlie's  flanks  an'  hurried  along  down  th'  road 
to  th'  meeting  house,  a  few  rods  farther  on,  when  what 
should  I  see  but  a  pretty  girl  on  th'  steps  of  that  same 
place  of  refuge!  Well,  I  begged  'er  pardon,  but  I  stayed 
on  them  there  steps  till  that  shower  cleared  off.  Most 
of  th'  time  I  was  a  prayin'  that  another  cloud  would  ap- 
pear, an'  I  didn't  want  it  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand 
neither.  No,  sir-ee,  I  wouldn't  'a'  cared  if  it'd  'a'  been  as 
big  as  th'  whole  Bay  of  Biscay.  An'  what  I  was  thinkin' 
jest  now  was  that  there  was  about  th'  same  fundamental 
differences  'tween  you  an'  John  Hunter  that  th'  was 
'tween  Liza  Ann  an'  me.  He's  light  haired  an'  blue  eyed, 
an  'tall  an'  slim,  an'  he's  openin'  up  a  new  farm,  an'  '11 
need  a  wife.  He  talks  of  his  mother  comin'  out  t'  keep 
house  for  him,  but,  law's  sakes!  she  wasn't  raised  on  a 
farm  an'  wouldn't  know  nothin'  about  farm  work.  Oh, 
yes,  I  forgot  t'  tell  you  th'  best  part  of  my  story:  I  got  t' 
carry  Miss  Liza  Ann  Parkins  home  on  old  Charlie,  'cause 
th'  crick  rose  over  th'  banks  outen  th'  clouds  of  rain  I 
prayed  for!" 

"Now,  Si  Chamberlain,  there  ain't  a  word  of  truth  in 
that,  an'  you  know  it,"  said  his  wife,  passing  Elizabeth  a 
hot  biscuit.  "I  walked  home  by  th'  turnpike  road,  Miss 
Farnshaw,  though  we  did  wait  a  bit,  till  it  dried  up  a 
little." 

Her  husband's  laugh  rang  out;  he  had  trapped  Liza  Ann 
into  the  discussion,  in  spite  of  herself,  and  he  had  trapped 
her  into  an  admission  as  well. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         109 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  may  be  mistaken  about  th'  ^tails, 
but  I've  always  had  a  soft  spot  in  my  heart  for  th'  rainy 
days  since  that  particular  time." 

"Bat  you  haven't  told  me  why  Mr.  Hunter  isn't  here 
to  eat  his  supper,"  said  Elizabeth,  "nor  have  you  told  me 
what  he  is  like." 

"Oh,  he's  gone  over  to  Colebyville  for  his  mail,  an' 
won't  be  home  till  late  —  in  all  this  mud.  As  to  what  he's 
like  —  it  ain't  easy  t'  tell  what  John's  like;  he's  —  he's  a 
university  feller;  most  folks  say  he's  a  dude,  but  we  like 
him?" 

"What  university?"  Elizabeth  asked  with  a  quick  in- 
drawn breath;  she  knew  now  whom  she  had  met  on  the 
road  that  afternoon. 

"He  comes  from  Illinois.  I  guess  it's  th'  State  Uni- 
versity —  I  never  asked  him.  His  father  died  an'  left 
him  this  land  an'  he's  come  out  here  to  farm  it.  Couldn't 
plow  a  straight  furrow  t'  save  his  life  when  he  come  a  little 
over  a  year  ago,  but  he's  picked  up  right  smart,"  Silas 
added,  thereby  giving  the  information  the  young  girl 
wanted. 

This  young  man  was  to  be  in  this  neighbourhood  all 
summer.  Still  another  reason  for  applying  for  the  Cham- 
berlain school. 

As  Elizabeth  helped  Liza  Ann  with  her  dishwashing 
after  supper,  John  Hunter  came  in.  The  ground  had  been 
too  soft  for  them  to  hear  the  wagon  when  he  drove 
up.  Silas  introduced  them  promptly  and  added  with 
a  grin: 


i  io         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"You've  heard  of  folks  that  didn't  know  enough  t' 
come  in  out  of  th'  rain?  Well,  that's  her!" 

John  Hunter's  eyes  twinkled  an  amused  recognition, 
but  he  did  not  mention  the  accident  in  which  Patsie  had 
come  to  grief. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Farnshaw;  we  are 
both  wet  weather  birds." 

Seeing  Liza  Ann  reach  for  a  frying  pan,  he  addressed 
himself  to  her: 

"Never  mind  any  supper  for  me,  Mrs.  Chamberlain. 
I  knew  I'd  be  late,  as  I  had  to  go  around  by  Warren's  after 
I  got  back,  and  I  got  an  early  supper  at  the  new  hotel  be- 
fore I  left  town!" 

"The  extravagance  of  that!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Chamber- 
lain, to  whom  hotel  bills  were  unknown. 

John  Hunter  went  to  the  door  to  clean  some  extra  mud 
off  his  boot  tops,  and  to  hide  a  wide  and  fatuous  smile  at 
the  thought  of  tricking  Silas  out  of  his  accustomed  joke. 
He  felt  nearer  the  girl,  because  she  too  had  been  silent 
regarding  the  afternoon  encounter.  He  liked  the  mu- 
tuality of  it  and  resolved  that  it  should  not  be  the  last 
touch  of  that  sort  between  them.  While  not  really 
intellectual,  John  Hunter  had  the  polish  and  tastes 
of  the  college  man,  and  here  he  reflected  was  a  girl  who 
seemed  near  being  on  his  own  level.  She  looked,  he 
thought,  as  if  she  could  see  such  small  matters  as  bespat- 
tered clothes. 

Silas  followed  him  out.  "You  didn't  bed  them  horses 
down  did  you?"  he  asked. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN    in 

"No.  I  expect  we'd  better  do  it  now  and  have  it  out 
of  the  way." 

As  they  entered  the  dark  stable  and  felt  their  way  along 
the  back  of  the  little  alley,  behind  the  stalls,  for  the  pitch- 
forks, the  younger  man  asked  indifferently: 

"Who  did  you  say  the  young  lady  was?" 

"Oh,  ho!"  shouted  Silas;  "it  didn't  take  you  long.  I 
knew  you'd  be  courtin'  of  me  along  with  your  questions. 
Now  look  here,  John  Hunter,  you  can't  go  an'  carry  this 
schoolma'am  off  till  this  here  term's  finished.  I  look 
fur  Carter  an'  that  new  director  over  to-night,  for  a 
school  meetin',  an'  I'm  blamed  if  I'm  goin'  t'  have 
you  cuttin'  into  our  plans  —  no,  sirr-ee  —  she's  t'  be 
left  free  t'  finish  up  this  school,  anyhow,  if  I  help  'er 
get  it." 

"No  danger!  You  get  her  the  school;  but  how  does 
she  come  to  have  that  air  away  out  here?  Does  she  come 
from  some  town  near  here?" 

"Town  nothin'!  She  was  jest  raised  on  these  prairies, 
same  as  th'  rest  of  us.  Ain't  she  a  dandy!  No,  sir  — 
'er  father's  a  farmer  —  'bout  as  common  as  any  of  us,  an' 
she  ain't  had  no  different  raisin'.  She's  different  in  'er- 
self  somehow.  Curious  thing  how  one  body'll  have  a 
thing  an'  another  won't,  an'  can't  seem  t'  get  it,  even  when 
he  wants  it  an'  tries.  Now  you  couldn't  make  nothin' 
but  jest  plain  farmer  out  of  me,  no  matter  what  you  done 
t'  me."  \ 

"Do  you  think  they'll  give  her  the  school?"  John  asked. 

Silas's  laugh  made  the  young  man  uncomfortable.     He 


ii2         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

had  intended  to  avoid  the  necessity  for  it,  but  had  for- 
gotten himself. 

"There's  Carter  now,"  was  all  the  reply  the  old  man 
gave  as  he  moved  toward  the  door,  which  he  could  dimly 
see  now  that  he  had  been  in  the  darkness  long  enough  for 
his  eyes  to  become  accustomed  to  it.  The  splashing  foot- 
steps of  a  horse  and  the  voice  of  a  man  cautioning  it  came 
from  toward  the  road. 

"That  you,  Carter?"  Silas  called. 

"Yes.  This  ground's  fairly  greasy  to-night,"  answered 
the  voice. 

"Bring  your  horse  in  here;  there's  room  under  cover  for 
it,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

They  tied  it  in  the  darkness,  feeling  their  way  from  strap 
to  manger.  "The  Farnshaw  girl's  here  waitin'  fur  th' 
school." 

"Glad  of  that,"  replied  the  newcomer.  "I  don't  know 
her  very  well,  but  they  say  she  can  handle  youngsters. 
She's  had  some  extry  schoolin'  too.  Don't  know  as  that 
makes  any  difference  in  a  summer  term,  but  it's  never  in 
th'  way." 

The  young  man  slipped  out  of  the  stable,  intending  to 
get  a  word  with  the  new  teacher  before  the  others  came 
to  the  house.  The  school  was  assured  to  her  with  two 
members  of  the  board  in  her  favour,  he  reflected.  Liza 
Ann  had  gone  to  the  other  room,  and  rinding  the  way  clear 
he  asked  in  a  half  whisper: 

"Did  you  lame  your  horse  badly?"  And  when  Eliza- 
beth only  nodded  and  looked  as  if  she  hoped  her  hostess 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         113 

t 

had  not  heard,  John  Hunter  was  rilled  with  joy.  The 
mutuality  of  the  reticence  put  them  on  the  footing  of  good 
fellowship.  There  was  no  further  opportunity  for  con- 
versation, as  they  heard  Silas  and  Carter  on  the  step  and 
a  third  party  hail  them  from  a  distance. 

There  was  a  moment's  delay  and  when  the  door  did  at 
last  open  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  gave  a  glad  cry: 

"Uncle  Nate!  Where  in  the  world  did  you  come  from?" 

She  caught  Nathan  Hornby  by  the  lapels  of  his  wet 
overcoat  and  stood  him  off  from  her,  looking  at  him  in 
such  a  transport  of  joy  that  they  were  the  centre  of  an 
admiring  and  curious  group  instantly. 

While  Nathan  explained  that  they  had  only  last  month 
traded  their  wooded  eighty  for  a  hundred  and  sixty  acres 
of  prairie  land  in  this  district,  and  that  it  had  been  their 
plan  to  surprise  her  the  next  Sunday  by  driving  over  to 
see  her  before  she  had  heard  that  they  were  in  that  part 
of  the  state,  Elizabeth  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  wood-box 
and  still  held  to  his  coat  as  if  afraid  the  vision  might 
vanish  from  her  sight,  and  asked  questions  twice  as  fast 
as  the  pleased  old  man  could  answer  them,  and  learned 
that  Nathan  had  been  appointed  to  fill  out  the  unexpired 
term  of  the  moderator  of  the  Chamberlain  school  district, 
with  whom  he  had  traded  for  the  land.  The  business  of 
the  evening  was  curtailed  to  give  the  pair  a  chance  to  talk, 
and  when  the  contract  was  signed,  Elizabeth  said  that  she 
would  go  home  with  Nathan,  and  John  Hunter  thrust 
himself  into  the  felicitous  arrangement  by  taking  the 
young  girl  over  in  his  farm  wagon,  it  being  decided  that 


ii4         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Patsie's  lameness  made  it  best  for  her  to  remain  housed 
in  Silas's  barn  for  the  night. 

It  was  a  mile  and  a  half  along  soggy  roads  to  Nathan 
Hornby's,  and  John  Hunter  made  as  much  of  the  time 
fortune  had  thrown  at  him  as  possible.  They  sat  under 
one  umbrella,  and  found  the  distance  short,  and  John  told 
her  openly  that  he  was  glad  she  was  to  be  in  his  neighbour- 
hood. 


CHAPTER  V 

REACHING    HUNGRY  HANDS    TOWARD    A    SYMBOL 

SUSAN  HORNBY'S  delight  over  Elizabeth's  com- 
ing was  the  most  satisfying  thing  Nathan  had 
seen  since  his  return  from  Topeka.  He  had  traded 
the  land  to  please  his  wife,  by  getting  nearer  Elizabeth, 
but  the  presence  of  the  girl  in  the  house  was  so  over- 
whelmingly surprising  that  Susan  was  swept  by  its  very 
suddenness  into  shedding  tears  of  actual  joy.  Elizabeth 
was  put  to  the  disconcerting  necessity  of  explaining  that 
her  mother  somewhat  resented  Aunt  Susan's  influence 
upon  her  daughter's  life  when  she  found  her  friends  en- 
thusiastically planning  visits  in  the  near  future.  She 
softened  the  details  as  much  as  possible  and  passed  it 
over  as  only  a  bit  of  maternal  jealousy,  but  was  obliged 
to  let  this  dear  friend  see  that  it  was  rather  a  serious 
matter  in  her  calculations.  Susan  Hornby  now  under- 
stood why  Elizabeth  had  never  visited  her  in  these  four 
years. 

With  the  eyes  of  love  Aunt  Susan  saw  that  four  years 
in  a  position  of  authority  had  ripened  her  darling,  and 
made  of  her  a  woman  of  wit  and  judgment,  who  could  tell 
a  necessary  thing  in  a  right  manner  or  with  a  reserve  which 
was  commendable.  Eagerly  she  studied  her  to  see  what 

"5 


ii6         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  changes  of  those  formative  years  had  brought  her. 
She  listened  to  Elizabeth's  plans  for  going  to  Topeka,  and 
rejoiced  that  the  intellectual  stimulus  was  still  strong  in 
her.  Elizabeth  was  obliged  to  explain  away  her  parent's 
attitude  regarding  further  education,  and  left  much  for 
the  older  woman  to  fill  in  by  her  intuitions  and  experience 
of  the  world,  but  there  again  Susan  Hornby  saw  evidences 
of  strength  which  made  her  feel  that  the  loss  was  offset 
by  power  gained.  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  had  matured  and 
had  qualities  which  would  command  recognition.  John 
Hunter  had  shown  that  he  recognized  them  —  a  thing 
which  Elizabeth  without  egotism  also  knew. 

It  was  a  new  experience  to  go  to  sleep  thinking  of  any 
man  but  Hugh.  In  the  darkness  of  the  little  bedroom  in 
which  Elizabeth  slept  that  night  Hugh's  priority  was  met 
face  to  face  by  John  Hunter's  proximity.  Possession  is 
said  to  be  nine  points  in  the  law,  and  John  Hunter  was  on 
the  ground.  The  girl  had  been  shut  away  from  those  of 
her  kind  until  her  hungry  hands  in  that  hour  of  thought 
reached  out  to  the  living  presence  of  the  cultured  man, 
and  her  hungry  heart  prayed  to  heaven  that  she  might  not 
be  altogether  unpleasing  to  him. 

In  the  hour  spent  with  John  Hunter  she  had  learned 
that  he  had  come  to  Kansas  to  open  a  farm  on  the  only 
unmortgaged  piece  of  property  which  his  father  had  left 
him  when  he  died;  that  his  mother  intended  to  come  to 
him  as  soon  as  he  had  a  house  built;  and  by  an  accidental 
remark  she  had  also  learned  that  there  were  lots  in  some 
eastern  town  upon  which  enough  money  could  be  raised 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         117 

to  stock  the  farm  with  calves  and  that  it  was  the  young 
man's  intention  to  farm  this  land  himself.  It  seemed  so 
incredible  that  John  Hunter  should  become  a  farmer  that 
by  her  astonished  exclamation  over  it  she  had  left  him 
self-satisfied  at  her  estimate  of  his  foreignness  to  the  life 
he  was  driven  to  pursue. 

Elizabeth  saw  that  if  John  Hunter  must  needs  run  a 
farm  that  he  would  do  his  best  at  it,  but  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  appear  one  with  a  role,  and  being  young  and  with 
her  own  philosophy  of  life  in  a  very  much  muddled  con- 
dition, she  liked  him  the  better  for  it.  Crucified  daily  by 
the  incongruities  of  her  own  home,  she  craved  deliverance 
from  it  and  all  it  represented. 

Just  now  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  was  going  home  with 
something  akin  to  fear  in  her  heart.  She  rated  herself 
soundly  for  the  useless  advice  she  had  thrust  upon  her 
mother  and  for  the  entangling  difficulties  which  her 
thoughtless  words  had  produced.  That  the  union  of  her 
parents  was  unclean,  that  it  was  altogether  foul  and  by 
far  worse  than  a  divorce,  she  still  felt  confident,  but  she 
saw  that  her  mother  was  totally  unable  to  comprehend  the 
difference  between  a  clean  separate  life  and  the  nagging 
poison  dealt  out  as  daily  bread  to  the  husband  with  whom 
she  lived;  but  she  saw  that  because  of  that  very  inability 
to  understand  the  difference,  the  mother  must  be  left  to 
find  the  light  in  her  own  way.  In  her  desire  to  help, 
Elizabeth  had  but  increased  her  mother's  burdens,  and 
she  tried  to  assume  an  attitude  of  added  tenderness  toward 
her  in  her  own  mind,  and  puckered  her  young  face  into  a 


ii8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

frown  as  she  let  Patsie  limp  slowly  from  one  low  hill  to 
another. 

"I'll  do  everything  I  can  to  square  the  deal  for  ma," 
she  resolved,  but  in  her  heart  there  was  a  sick  suspicion 
that  all  she  could  do  was  not  much,  and  that  it  had  small 
chance  really  to  avail. 

Elizabeth  had  started  early  for  home,  but  the  sun  rode 
high  in  the  heavens  before  she  arrived.  Albert,  who  was 
herding  the  cattle  on  the  short  grass  a  half  mile  from 
home,  warned  her  as  she  passed  that  she  would  do  well  to 
hurry  to  the  house. 

"Pa  waited  for  you  to  do  the  milking,  Bess,  an'  you 
didn't  come.  He's  mad  as  a  hornet,  an'  you'll  have  t' 
bring  th'  cows  out  after  he  gets  through." 

It  was  a  friendly  warning.  To  be  milking  at  that  hour, 
when  all  the  men  in  the  neighbourhood  were  already  fol- 
lowing plow  and  harrow,  was  an  important  matter  on 
the  farm.  Plainly  it  had  been  arranged  to  make  Eliza- 
beth feel  a  hindrance  to  the  business  of  getting  in  the 
crops,  and  it  was  with  increased  apprehension  that  she 
approached  home. 

The  storm  broke  as  soon  as  she  was  within  hailing 
distance. 

"It's  time  you  brought  that  horse  home,  young  lady. 
You  see  to  it  that  it's  harnessed  for  th'  drag  as  quick  as 
ever  you  can.  Next  time  you  get  a  horse  you'll  know 
it."  " 

When  Elizabeth  started  on  and  Mr.  Farnshaw  saw 
that  Patsie  was  lame  his  anger  knew  no  bounds,  and  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         119 

sound  of  his  exasperated  voice  could  have  been  heard  half 
a  mile  away  as  he  poured  out  a  stream  of  vituperation. 

Elizabeth  dodged  into  the  barn  as  soon  as  its  friendly 
door  could  be  reached,  thankful  that  the  cows  were  as  far 
as  they  were  from  it.  Joe  was  harnessing  a  team  in  the 
far  corner. 

"You  better  shy  around  pa,  Sis;  and  get  t'  th'  house," 
he  cautioned. 

"All  right.  He  told  me  to  harness  Patsie,  but  she's  so 
lame  I  know  she  can't  work  —  what  will  I  do  ? " 

"If  she  can't  work,  she  can't.     How  did  it  happen?" 

"  She  strained  herself  just  before  I  got  to  Mr.  Chamber- 
lain's. I  was  passing  a  young  man  by  the  name  of 
Hunter  and  she  fell  flat.  Say,  do  you  know  anything 
about  Mr.  Hunter?" 

"Yes,  yes.  Jimmie  Crane  says  he's  a  stuck-up,  who's 
goin'  t'  show  us  country  jakes  how  t'  farm;  but  th'  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  t'  get  in  an'  not  let  pa  get  any  excuse 
for  a  row." 

Mr.  Farnshaw  had  taken  the  milkpails  to  the  houseVhile 
they  were  talking  and  it  was  Elizabeth's  fate  to  encounter 
him  on  the  doorstep  as  she  ran  up  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"Where  were  you  last  night?" 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  about  the  horse,  pa.  I  hurried  this 
morning,  but  Patsie  was  so  lame  and  I  had  to  come  all 
the  way  from  the  Chamberlain  district.  The  Haddon 
school  board  didn't  meet  this  week  and  the  director  of 
number  Twelve  was  away,  and  it  was  so  late  last  night 
that  I  couldn't  get  home." 


120         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Oh,  you've  always  got  a  good  excuse.  I  bet  you  didn't 
get  a  school  after  all." 

Elizabeth  had  been  edging  toward  the  door  as  her  father 
was  speaking  and  now  made  her  escape  to  the  inside  of 
the  house  as  she  replied  over  her  shoulder  in  a  perfectly 
respectful  tone: 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did,  and  it  begins  Monday." 

"Well,  it's  better  than  I  expected.  Now  see  to  it  that 
you  get  that  riding  skirt  off  an'  come  an'  drive  my  team 
while  I  finish  them  oats." 

The  daughter  stopped  where  she  stood  and  was  going 
to  reply  that  she  must  get  ready  if  she  were  to  go  to  Aunt 
Susan's  the  next  day,  but  on  second  thought  closed  her 
mouth  down  firmly.  She  knew  she  would  do  well  if  she 
escaped  with  no  harder  tax  laid  upon  her  temper  than 
that  of  putting  off  her  arrival  at  the  Hornby  home,  and 
she  turned  to  do  as  she  was  bidden. 

When  Elizabeth  found  her  homecoming  unpleasant 
and  her  father  sullen  and  evidently  nursing  his  wrath,  she 
faced  the  storm  without  protest,  took  all  that  was  said 
quietly,  helped  in  the  fields  and  endeavoured  to  make  up 
for  her  unfortunate  words  in  every  helpful  way  possible. 
In  all,  she  was  so  subtly  generous  with  her  assistance  that  it 
was  impossible  to  bring  on  a  quarrel  with  her,  and  the  sour 
demeanour  of  her  father  was  so  carefully  handled  that 
Friday  arrived  without  an  open  break  having  occurred. 
A  new  dress  had  been  one  of  the  longed-for  accomplish- 
ments of  the  week's  work,  but  certain  of  Aunt  Susan's 
help  when  she  was  safely  entrenched  in  her  home,  Eliza- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         121 

beth  retired  to  the  attic  whenever  she  saw  her  father 
approach  the  house.  His  attitude  was  threatening,  but 
the  anxious  girl  was  able  to  delay  the  encounter.  It 
could  only  be  delayed,  for  Mr.  Farnshaw  made  a  virtue 
of  not  forgetting  unpleasant  things. 

The  only  unfortunate  occurrence  of  the  week  was  the 
presence  of  Sadie  Crane  and  her  mother  when  Mr.  Huntef 
drove  up  to  the  back  door  for  Elizabeth's  trunk,  but  even 
this  had  had  its  beneficial  side,  for  Josiah  Farnshaw  had 
been  mending  harness,  because  a  shower  had  made  the 
ground  too  wet  to  plow,  and  the  presence  of  neighbours 
made  it  possible  to  get  the  trunk  packed  without  unpleas- 
antness. When  John  Hunter  drove  up  to  the  back  door, 
Mr.  Farnshaw  rose  from  his  chair  beside  the  window  and 
went  to  help  put  his  daughter's  possessions  in  the  wagon. 
Sadie  crossed  over  to  the  window  to  get  a  look  at  Lizzie's 
new  beau. 

Sadie  Crane  was  now  sixteen  years  old,  and  being  under- 
sized and  childish  of  appearance  had  never  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  company  of  a  young  man.  The  yearning  in 
her  pettish  face  as  she  stood  unevenly  on  the  discarded 
harness,  looking  out  of  the  window  toward  John  Hunter, 
caught  Elizabeth's  attention  and  illuminated  the  whole 
affair  to  the  older  girl. 

"Dude!"  Sadie  exclaimed  spitefully,  facing  about  and 
evidently  offering  insult. 

But  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  had  seen  the  unsatisfied  look 
which  preceded  the  remark  and  it  was  excused.  Sadie  was 
just  Sadie,  and  not  to  be  taken  seriously. 


122         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"He'd  better  soak  his  head;  he  can't  farm." 

No  one  replied,  and  Elizabeth  said  hurried  good-byes 
and  escaped. 

But  though  Sadie  Crane  was  undersized  and  spoke 
scornfully,  she  was  old  enough  to  feel  a  woman's  desires 
and  dream  a  woman's  dreams.  She  watched  the  pair 
drive  away  together  in  pleasant  converse  on  the  quilt- 
lined  spring  seat  of  the  farm  wagon,  and  swallowed  a  sob. 

"Lizzie  always  had  th'  best  of  everything,"  she  reflected. 

The  roads  were  slippery  and  gave  an  excuse  for  driving 
slowly,  and  the  young  man  exerted  himself  to  be  agreeable. 
The  distaste  for  the  presence  of  the  Cranes  at  her  home 
when  he  came  for  her,  his  possible  opinion  of  her  family 
and  friends,  the  prolonged  struggle  with  her  father,  even 
the  headache  from  which  she  had  not  been  free  for  days, 
melted  out  of  Elizabeth's  mind  in  the  joy  of  that  ride, 
and  left  it  a  perfect  experience.  It  began  to  rain  before 
they  were  halfway  to  their  destination,  and  they  sat 
shoulder  to  shoulder  under  the  umbrella,  with  one  of  the 
quilts  drawn  around  both.  There  was  a  sack  of  butter- 
scotch, and  they  talked  of  Scott,  and  Dickens,  and  the 
other  books  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  had  absorbed  from  Aunt 
Susan's  old-fashioned  library;  and  Elizabeth  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  she  had  read  almost  as  much  as  this 
college  man,  and  still  more  surprised  to  find  that  she  re- 
membered a  great  deal  more  of  what  she  had  read  than 
he  seemed  to  do.  She  asked  many  questions  about  his 
college  experiences  and  learned  that  he  had  lacked  but  a 
year  and  a  half  of  graduation. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         123 

"Why  didn't  you  finish?"  she  asked  curiously. 

"Well,  you  know,  father  died,  and  I  didn't  have  hardly 
enough  to  finish  on,  so  I  thought  I'd  come  out  here  and 
get  to  making  something.  I  didn't  care  to  finish.  I'd  had 
my  fun  out  of  it.  I  wish  I  hadn't  gone  at  all.  If  I'd 
gone  into  the  office  with  my  father  and  been  admitted 
to  the  Bar  it  would  have  been  better  for  me.  I  wouldn't 
have  been  on  the  farm  then,"  he  said  regretfully. 

"Then  why  didn't  you  go  into  the  law?  You  could 
have  made  it  by  yourself,"  Elizabeth  said,  understanding 
that  it  hurt  John  Hunter's  pride  to  farm. 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  dripping  shoulders  and 
pulled  the  quilt  tighter  around  them  as  he  answered  in- 
differently: 

"Not  very  well.  Father  left  very  little  unmortgaged 
except  mother's  own  property,  and  I  thought  I'd  get  out 
of  Canton.  It  ain't  easy  to  live  around  folks  you  know 
unless  you  have  money." 

"But  you  could  have  worked  your  way  through  college; 
lots  of  boys  do  it,"  the  girl  objected. 

"Not  on  your  life!  "John  Hunter  exclaimed  emphati- 
cally. "I  don't  go  to  college  that  way."  After  a  few 
moments'  musing  he  added  slowly,  "I'll  make  money 
enough  to  get  out  of  here  after  a  while." 

"  I  only  wish  I'd  had  your  chance,"  Elizabeth  said  with 
a  sigh. 

"Let's  talk  about  something  cheerful,"  young  Hunter 
replied,  when  he  realized  that  the  ride  was  nearly  over. 
"When  may  I  come  to  see  you  again?"  he  asked.  "You 


i24         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

are  to  see  a  good  deal  of  me  this  summer  if  you  will  permit 
it." 

Elizabeth  Farnshaw  caught  a  happy  breath  before  she 
replied.  He  wanted  to  come;  she  was  to  see  much  of  him 
this  summer  if  she  would  permit  it!  Could  nature  and 
fate  ask  for  more? 

When  Elizabeth  arrived,  the  old  couple  bustled  about 
the  bright  carpeted  room,  making  it  comfortable,  and 
cooing  over  the  return  of  their  prodigal,  till  a  heaven  of 
homeness  was  made  of  her  advent. 

Half  an  hour  later  Elizabeth,  dry  and  warm  and  with  a 
cup  of  tea  beside  her  which  she  had  found  it  easier  to 
accept  than  to  refuse,  looked  about  her  and  invoiced  the 
changes  of  four  years  which  in  her  preoccupied  state  of 
mind  during  her  former  visit  she  had  neglected  to  think 
upon.  There  were  many  little  changes  in  the  household 
arrangement,  due  to  the  observations  of  the  winter  spent 
in  Topeka.  In  personal  appearance  Aunt  Susan  herself 
showed  improvement. 

When  Elizabeth's  attention  was  turned  to  Nathan, 
however,  the  glad  little  enumeration  became  a  more  sober 
one.  In  the  days  when  they  had  fed  the  motherless  Pat- 
sie  together  Nathan  Hornby  had  been  portly,  even  in- 
clined to  stoutness,  and  his  face,  though  tough  from  wind 
and  sun,  inclined  to  be  ruddy.  The  genial  gray  eyes  had 
sparkled  with  confidence  in  himself  and  good-will  toward 
all  about  him.  At  Silas  Chamberlain's  house  a  week  ago 
the  girl  had  noticed  that  Nathan  let  others  arrange  the 
business  details  of  contracts  and  credentials,  but  his  joy 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         125 

at  meeting  her  had  obscured  the  habitual  sadness  of  his 
present  manner.  She  had  noticed  that  he  was  thinner, 
but  to-night  she  saw  the  waste  and  aging  which  had  con- 
sumed him.  The  belt  line  which  had  bulged  comfortably 
under  the  vest  of  five  years  ago  was  flat  and  flabby,  the 
thick  brown  hair  which  had  shown  scarcely  a  thread  of 
white  was  now  grizzled  and  thin,  the  ruddy  cheeks  had 
fallen  in,  and  two  missing  lower  teeth  made  him  whistle  his 
s'es  through  the  gap  with  a  sound  unlike  his  tluff  speech 
of  their  first  acquaintance,  so  that  without  the  face  which 
accompanied  the  words  she  could  hardly  have  recognized 
the  connection  between  the  man  who  had  and  the  man 
who  did  embody  the  same  personality.  The  cogitations 
of  the  first  half  hour  in  the  white  counterpaned  bed  that 
night  left  Elizabeth  in  a  maze  of  wonder  over  his  physical 
as  well  as  mental  collapse. 

Aunt  Susan  was  evidently  aware  of  changes  also,  for 
she  hovered  over  him  solicitously.  Nathan  Hornby  was 
a  broken  man. 

School  opened  auspiciously  on  Monday;  John  Hunter 
came  and  stayed  to  walk  home  with  Elizabeth  on  Tuesday 
afternoon,  and  the  glad  weeks  which  followed  were  but 
the  happy  record  of  so  many  rides,  walks,  and  talks,  and 
the  dreams  of  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  and  John  Hunter.  He 
was  with  the  girl  daily.  Elizabeth  never  expressed  the 
smallest  desire  for  anything  human  hand  could  obtain 
for  her  that  John  Hunter  did  not  instantly  assure  her  that 
she  should  receive  it.  If  she  stayed  to  sweep  out  the 
schoolhouse,  John  would  almost  certainly  appear  at  the 


126         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

door  before  she  had  finished  —  his  fields  commanded  a 
view  of  her  comings  and  goings  — if  she  went  to  Carter's 
to  have  a  money  order  cashed  he  accompanied  her;  if  she 
wished  to  go  anywhere  she  had  but  to  mention  it  and  John 
Hunter  and  his  team  were  at  her  service. 

Elizabeth  could  not  have  been  otherwise  than  happy. 
The  spring,  with  its  freshness  and  promise,  was  symbolical 
of  the  gladsome  currents  of  her  life  that  joyous  April  and 
May.  Her'  lightest  wish  was  the  instant  consideration  of 
the  man  she  admired  above  all  others,  and  that  man,  in 
refinement  of  appearance  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
was  as  far  above  those  of  the  country  community  in 
which  they  lived  as  the  sun  was  above  the  smoky  kerosene 
lamps  by  which  the  members  of  that  community  lighted 
themselves  to  bed. 

John  Hunter,  during  the  season  of  his  courtship,  served 
the  girl  of  his  choice  almost  upon  his  knees.  He  made  her 
feel  that  she  could  command  his  services,  his  time,  and 
himself.  By  his  request  he  ceased  to  ask  when  he  could 
come  again,  but  encouraged,  even  commanded,  her  to 
tell  him  when  and  where  she  wished  to  be  taken  and 
to  let  him  come  to  see  her  unannounced.  He  paid 
tribute  to  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  goddess  and  he  her 
devotee. 

Silas  looked  on  and  chuckled. 

"Didn't  take  'em  long,"  he  remarked  to  Liza  Ann,  and 
when  as  usual  his  wife  did  not  reply,  he  added:  "Gkd 
we're  to  have  'em  for  neighbours.  She's  about  th'  live- 
liest meadow  lark  on  these  prairies,  an'  if  she  don't  sing 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         127 

on  a  fence  post  it's  'cause  she  ain't  built  that  way,  an' 
can't;  she's  full  enough  to." 

Susan  Hornby  looked  on  and  had  her  misgivings.  She 
saw  the  devotion  the  young  man  poured  out  at  her  dar- 
ling's feet,  and  she  knew  that  it  was  the  fervour  of  the 
courting  time  in  a  man's  life  that  made  him  abandon  his 
own  interests  and  plans  while  he  plumed  himself  and  pur- 
sued his  desired  mate.  She  saw  the  rapturous,  dreamy 
look  of  love  and  mating  time  in  Elizabeth's  eyes,  and  she 
knew  that  the  inevitable  had  happened,  but  she  was  not 
content.  Premonitions  which  she  sought  to  strangle 
shook  her  whenever  the  pair  wandered  away  on  real  or 
fictitious  errands.  She  saw  that  no  word  of  love  had  yet 
been  spoken,  but  every  look  cried  it  aloud  and  the  day 
could  not  be  far  distant. 

Between  corn  planting  and  corn  plowing  the  founda- 
tions of  the  new  house  had  been  laid  and  work  on  it  had 
progressed  fitfully  and  whenever  the  young  man  could 
find  time  to  help  the  occasional  mason  who  laid  brick 
and  stone  for  simple  foundations,  and  who  had  crops  of 
his  own  to  tend  between  times.  The  work  had  pro- 
gressed slowly,  but  at  last  the  wall  had  been  finished 
and  the  carpenters  had  come  to  do  their  share.  It  gave 
excuse  for  many  trips  in  the  evening  twilight.  They 
usually  went  on  horseback,  and  Silas's  pony  with 
Liza  Ann's  sidesaddle  on  its  back  had  more  business 
on  hand  that  month  than  in  all  the  other  years  of  its  lazy 
existence. 

Susan  Hornby  watched  the  pair  ride  away  one  evening 


128         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  first  week  in  June.  Nathan  stood  at  her  side  on  the 
doorstep. 

"Of  course  he  loves  her;  how  could  he  help  it?  and 
yet " 

"And  yet,  what?"  Nathan  asked  impatiently.  "She 
wants  him,  an'  he  wants  her,  an'  you  stand  there  lookin' 
as  if  that  wasn't  enough." 

Susan  Hornby  turned  to  her  husband  with  some  un- 
certainty regarding  his  comprehension  of  the  subject,  and 
with  a  gentle  patience  with  his  mood.  Nathan  was  often 
impatient  of  late. 

"Yes,  I  know  —  only  it  seems  as  if " 

"Well,  now  what's  lacking?"  her  husband  asked  when 
she  again  broke  off  the  sentence  doubtfully.  "He's  got 
a  good  farm,  an'  he  needs  a  wife  to  help  him  run  it.  From 
what  he  says,  his  mother's  too  old  t'  be  of  any  help.  He 
can't  run  it  alone,  an'  seems  t'  me  it's  a  good  thing  for 
both  of  'em." 

"That's  just  it!"  Susan  Hornby  broke  out,  turning 
back,  her  eyes  following  the  progress  of  the  pair  toward 
the  crimson  west,  her  thoughts  running  ahead  to  the  un- 
known future  where  the  progress  of  the  soul  would  be 
helped  or  hindered;  "that's  just  it!  He  has  a  farm;  now 
he's  going  to  need  a  wife  to  help  run  it  —  just  as  he  needs 
a  horse.  If  he'd  only  be  fair  about  it,  but  he's  misleading 
her.  She  thinks  he'll  always  do  things  the  way  he's  doing 
them  now,  and  he  won't;  there'll  be  an  end  to  that  kind  of 
thing  some  day  —  and  —  and  when  they're  married  and 
he's  got  her  fast,  that  kind  of  man  won't  be  nice  about  it 


129 

—  and  —  they'll  live  on  the  farm  —  and  life's  so  hard 
sometimes!  Oh!  I  can't  bear  to  see  her  broken  to  it!" 
she  cried  with  such  intensity  that  the  man  at  her  side 
caught  his  breath  with  a  sort  of  sob. 

"Anybody'd  think  to  hear  you  talk,  Susan,  that  mar- 
ryin'  was  a  thing  to  be  feared,  an'  that  I'd  been  mean  t' 
you." 

What  had  she  done?  There  was  a  half-frightened  pause 
as  Susan  Hornby  struggled  to  bring  herself  back  to  the 
husband  standing  beside  her  who  was  broken  by  failure. 

"Bless  your  old  soul,  Nate,"  she  answered  quickly,  and 
with  the  flush  of  confusion  on  her  face  strangely  like  the 
flush  of  guilt,  "if  he's  only  half  as  good  to  her  as  you've 
been  to  me,  she'll  never  have  anything  to  complain  of 
nor  need  anybody's  sympathy." 

Susan  understood  that  her  assurance  did  not  wholly  re- 
assure that  bleeding  heart,  and  to  turn  Nathan's  thoughts 
to  other  things  she  slipped  one  hand  through  his  arm,  and 
picking  up  the  milk  pails  from  the  bench  at  her  side  with 
the  other,  said  with  a  little  laugh: 

"There  now!  I'll  do  your  milking  for  that.  You 
throw  down  the  hay  while  I  do  it.  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  you  and  me,  except  that  I've  done  a  washing 
to-day  and  you  don't  sleep  well  of  late.  I  haven't  one 
thing  in  all  this  world  to  complain  of,  and  this  would  be 
the  happiest  year  of  my  life  if  you  weren't  a  bit  gloomy 
and  under  the  weather.  Come  on  —  I'm  nervous.  You 
know  I  never  am  well  in  hot  weather." 

Nathan  knew  that  Susan  was  really  worried  over  Eliza- 


1 30    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

beth's  prospects,  but  her  luckless  remark  upon  the  mar- 
riage of  farmers  cut  into  his  raw,  quivering  consciousness 
of  personal  failure  like  a  saw-bladed  knife,  torturing  the 
flesh  as  it  went.  His  failure  to  place  her  where  her  own 
natural  characteristics  and  attainments  deserved  had 
eaten  into  his  mind  like  acid.  In  proportion  as  he  loved 
her  and  acknowledged  her  worth  he  was  humiliated  by  the 
fact  that  she  was  not  getting  all  out  of  life  of  which  she 
was  capable,  as  his  wife,  and  it  left  him  sensitive  regarding 
her  possible  estimate  of  it. 

"She  always  seems  satisfied,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
turned  his  pitchfork  to  get  a  hold  on  the  pile  into  which 
he  had  thrust  it,  "but  here  she  is  pityin'  this  here  girl 
that's  goin'  t'  be  married  as  if  she  goin'  t'  be  damned." 

The  Adam's  apple  in  his  wrinkled  throat  tightened 
threateningly,  and  to  keep  down  any  unmanly  weakness 
it  indicated  he  fell  upon  the  hay  savagely,  but  the  sus- 
picion stayed  with  him  and  left  its  bitter  sting. 


CHAPTER  VI 
"DIDN'T  TAKE  'EM  LONG" 

JOHN  HUNTER  and  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  rode 
away  in  the  cool  summer  evening,  wholly  un- 
conscious of  the  thoughts  of  others.  The  sun 
had  dropped  behind  the  low  hills  in  front  of  them,  and  as 
they  rode  along,  the  light-floating  clouds  were  dyed  blaz- 
ing tints  of  red  and  gold,  as  glowing  and  rosy  as  life  itself 
appeared  to  the  young  pair.  Elizabeth  took  off  her  hat 
and  let  the  cool  evening  breeze  blow  through  the  waves  of 
hair  on  her  temples  and  about  the  smooth  braids  which, 
because  of  the  heat  of  the  prematurely  hot  summer  day, 
had  been  wound  about  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  dreamy 
and  her  manner  detached  as  she  let  the  pony  wander  a 
half  length  ahead  of  its  companion,  and  she  was  unaware 
that  John  was  not  talking.  She  was  just  drinking 
in  the  freshness  of  the  evening  breeze  and  sky,  scarcely 
conscious  of  any  of  her  surroundings,  glad  as  a  kitten 
to  be  alive,  and  as  unaware  of  self  as  a  young  animal 
should  be. . 

John  Hunter  rode  at  her  side,  watching  the  soft  curls 
on  her  round  girlish  neck,  athrob  and  athrill  with  her 
presence,  and  trying  to  formulate  the  thing  he  had  brought 
her  out  to  say.  It  was  not  till  they  were  turning  into  the 

131 


lane  beside  the  new  house  that  his  companion  realized 
that  he  had  been  more  than  usually  quiet. 

"You  are  a  Quaker  to-night,  evidently,  and  do  not 
speak  till  the  spirit  moves,  Mr.  Hunter,"  she  said,  facing 
about  near  the  gateway  and  waiting  for  him  to  ride  along- 
side. 

The  young  man  caught  the  cue.  "  I  wish  you  would  call 
me  John.  I've  been  intending  to  ask  you  for  some  time. 
I  have  a  given  name,"  he  added. 

"Will  you  do  the  same?"  she  asked. 

"Call  myself  John?"  he  replied. 

They  both  laughed  as  if  a  great  witticism  had  been  per- 
petrated. 

"No,  call  me  by  my  given  name." 

"Lizzie,  Bess,  Elizabeth,  or  Sis?"  he  asked,  remember- 
ing the  various  nicknames  of  her  family. 

"You  may  call  me  whatever  you  choose,"  she  answered, 
drawing  the  pony  up  where  they  were  to  dismount. 

John  Hunter  stepped  to  the  ground  and  with  his  bridle 
rein  over  his  arm  came  around  to  the  left  side  of  her  pony. 
Laying  one  hand  on  its  neck  and  the  other  on  the  hand 
that  grasped  its  bridle,  he  looked  up  into  her  face  earnestly 
and  said: 

"I  would  like  to  call  you  'Wife,'  if  I  may,  Elizabeth," 
and  held  up  his  arms  quickly  to  help  her  from  the  saddle. 

When  she  was  on  the  ground  before  him  he  barred 
her  way  and  stood,  pulsing  and  insistent,  waiting  for  her 
answer. 

It  was  a  full  minute  before  either  moved,  she  looking 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         133 

down  at  their  feet,  he  looking  at  her  and  trying  to  be  sure 
he  could  push  his  claims. 

When  Elizabeth  did  look  up  it  was  with  her  eyes  brim- 
ming shyly  over  with  happy  tears,  and  without  waiting 
for  her  answer  in  words,  John  Hunter  gathered  her  into 
his  arms  and  smothered  her  face  in  kisses. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  tied  the  horses  to  the  new  hitch- 
ing post  and  passed  into  the  yard. 

"It  is  to  be  your  house  and  mine,  dearie,"  the  young 
man  said,  and  then  looked  down  at  her  to  see  why  she  did 
not  answer. 

Elizabeth  was  walking  toward  the  house  which  was  to 
be  hers,  oblivious  of  time  and  place,  almost  unconscious  of 
the  man  at  her  side,  stunned  by  the  unexpectedness  of  this 
precious  gift  of  love  which  had  just  been  offered  her.  As 
they  stepped  upon  the  little  back  porch,  he  said: 

"I  brought  you  over  to  ask  your  advice  about  the  stair- 
way; the  carpenters  want  to  leave  one  step  in  the  sitting 
room.  It'll  be  back  far  enough  from  the  chimney  to  be 
out  of  the  way  and  it  makes  their  calculations  easier  about 
the  stairs  somehow.  What  do  you  think?" 

Elizabeth  was  altogether  too  new  in  the  sense  of  pos- 
session to  grasp  the  full  significance  of  the  question.  John 
Hunter  laughed  at  the  look  she  turned  upon  him  and  said, 
with  a  large  and  benevolent  wave  of  the  hand,  indicating 
the  entire  premises: 

"The  house  is  yours,  little  girl,  and  you  are  to  have  it 
as  you  want  it.  The  only  desire  I  have  on  earth  is  to  do 
things  for  you." 


i34         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Elizabeth  shot  a  quick  look  of  joy  up  to  him.  "No  one 
but  Aunt  Susan  has  ever  wanted  to  do  anything  for  me," 
she  said,  and  opening  her  arms  held  them  out  to  him,  cry- 
ing, "Am  I  to  be  happy?  John!  John!  do  you  love  me, 
really?" 

And  that  was  the  burden  of  their  conversation  during 
the  entire  stay. 

"It  can't  be  possible,  John,"  the  happy  girl  said  at  one 
point.  "I  have  never  known  love  —  and  —  and  I  want 
it  till  I  could  die  for  it." 

"Just  so  you  don't  die  of  it,  you'll  be  all  right,"  John 
Hunter  replied,  and  went  home  from  Nathan's,  later, 
whistling  a  merry  tune.  He  had  not  known  that  love 
poured  itself  out  with  such  abandonment.  It  was  a  new 
feature  of  the  little  god's  manoeuvring,  but  John  doubted 
not  that  it  was  the  usual  thing  where  a  girl  really  cared 
for  a  man. 

"I'll  farm  the  whole  place  next  year,  and  it'll  be  differ- 
ent from  boarding  at  the  Chamberlains',  where  they  don't 
have  any  napkins  and  the  old  man  sucks  his  coffee  out  of 
his  saucer  as  if  it  hurt  him.  Mother  '11  like  her  too,  after 
we  get  her  away  from  that  sort  of  thing  and  brush  her  up, 
and  get  her  into  the  Hunter  ways,"  he  told  himself  as  he 
tied  the  pony  in  the  dark  stall. 

The  next  day  was  a  dream  to  the  young  girl,  who 
patiently  watched  the  clock  and  waited  for  the  hour  of 
visiting  the  new  house  again.  "I  have  no  higher  desire 
on  earth  than  to  do  things  for  you,"  was  the  undercurrent 
of  her  thoughts.  She  was  to  escape  from  the  things 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         135 

which  threatened  at  home.  Instead  of  always  rendering 
services,  which  were  seldom  satisfactory  after  she  had 
sacrificed  herself  to  them,  she  was  to  be  served  as  well, 
Oh,  the  glad  thought!  Not  of  service  as  such,  but  of  the 
mutuality  of  it.  She  loved  John  Hunter  and  he  loved 
her.  There  was  to  be  understanding  between  them. 
That  was  the  joy  of  it.  To  put  her  hand  on  the  arm  of 
one  that  appreciated  not  only  her  but  all  that  she  aimed 
at,  to  open  her  heart  to  him,  to  be  one  with  him  in  aspira- 
tion, that  was  the  point  of  value  which  Elizabeth  Farn- 
shaw  never  doubted  was  to  be  the  leading  characteristic 
of  their  life  together. 

Now  that  she  was  engaged,  Elizabeth  felt  herself  eman- 
cipated from  home  authority.  She  would  belong  to  her- 
self hereafter.  She  would  stay  with  Aunt  Susan  till  she 
had  her  sewing  done  for  the  winter  at  Topeka.  She  would 
go  to  school  only  one  year,  just  enough  to  polish  up  on 
social  ideas  and  matters  of  dress.  Elizabeth  Farnshaw 
knew  that  both  John  Hunter  and  his  mother  were  critical 
upon  those  accomplishments  and  her  pride  told  her  to 
prepare  for  the  mother's  inspection.  She  knew  that  she 
was  considered  a  country  girl  by  those  of  superior  advan- 
tages, and  she  was  resolved  to  show  what  could  be  done  in 
a  year  in  the  way  of  improvement;  then  she  would  come 
home  and  teach  for  money  with  which  to  buy  her  wedding 
outfit,  and  then  they  would  be  married.  Two  years  and 
the  certainty  of  graduation  would  have  suited  her  better, 
but  two  years  was  a  long  time.  The  picture  of  John  with- 
out her,  and  the  home  he  was  building  for  her,  planted 


136         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

themselves  in  the  foreground  of  her  thoughts,  and  Eliza- 
beth was  unselfish.  She  would  not  make  John  Hunter 
wait.  She  would  make  that  one  year  at  Topeka  equal  to 
two  in  the  intensity  of  its  living.  She  would  remain  away 
the  shortest  possible  length  of  time  which  was  required 
for  her  preparation.  Elizabeth  was  glad  that  John  had 
his  mother  to  keep  house  for  him,  because  she  did  not 
want  him  to  be  lonesome  while  she  was  gone,  though  she 
did  not  doubt  that  he  would  come  to  Topeka  many  times 
while  she  was  there.  Her  mind  flew  off  in  another  direc- 
tion at  that,  and  she  planned  to  send  him  word  when  there 
were  good  lectures  to  attend. 

"John  likes  those  things,"  she  thought,  and  was  filled 
with  a  new  joy  at  the  prospect  of  their  books,  and  lec- 
tures, and  intellectual  pursuits.  Her  plan  of  teaching  in 
the  high  school  was  abandoned.  It  was  better  to  be  loved 
and  have  a  home  with  John  Hunter  than  to  live  in  Topeka. 
The  more  Elizabeth  thought  of  it  the  more  she  was  con- 
vinced that  her  plan  was  complete.  She  was  glad  there 
was  a  month  to  spare  before  Mrs.  Hunter  came.  John's 
mother  was  the  only  warning  finger  on  Elizabeth's  horizon. 
She  had  always  been  conscious  of  a  note  of  anxiety  in  John 
Hunter's  voice  and  manner  whenever  he  spoke  of  his 
mother  coming  to  Kansas  to  live,  and  she  found  the 
anxiety  had  been  transferred  to  her  own  mind  when  she 
began  to  consider  her  advent  into  the  home  John  was 
building.  She  had  gathered,  more  from  his  manner  than 
anything  definitely  said,  that  his  mother  would  not  ap- 
prove of  much  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  meet  in  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         137 

society  about  them,  that  she  was  a  social  arbiter  in  a  class 
of  women  superior  to  these  simple  farmers'  wives,  and 
that  her  whole  life  and  thought  were  of  a  different  and 
more  desirable  sort.  When  Elizabeth  thought  of  Mrs. 
Hunter  she  unconsciously  glanced  down  at  herself,  her 
simple  print  dress,  her  brown  hands,  and  the  heavy  shoes 
which  much  walking  made  necessary,  and  wondered  how 
she  did  really  appear;  and  there  was  a  distinct  misgiving 
in  everything  where  the  older  woman  had  to  be  considered. 

John  came  early  that  evening.  The  carpenters  had 
raised  new  questions  about  shelves  and  doors  and  Eliza- 
beth must  go  over  and  decide  those  matters.  They 
walked  over,  and  it  was  late  before  all  the  simple  arrange- 
ments could  be  decided  upon.  As  they  returned  they 
walked  close  together  in  the  centre  of  the  deep  road  so 
as  to  avoid  the  dew-laden  grass  on  either  side.  The  open 
door  of  Nathan's  house  gave  out  a  hospitable  light,  but 
they  were  content  to  saunter  slowly,  listening  to  the 
harvest  crickets  which  were  already  chirruping  in  the 
weeds  about  them,  and  looking  at  the  lazy  red  disk  of  the 
moon  just  peeping  above  the  eastern  horizon. 

"I  shall  write  mother  of  our  engagement  to-night," 
John  said  after  a  rather  long  silence. 

"Oh,  don't,"  the  girl  replied,  awakened  suddenly  from  a 
reverie  of  a  different  sort.  "Let's  keep  it  a  secret  for  a 
while.  I  haven't  told  Aunt  Susan  yet,  and  I  don't  want 
to  tell  her  till  I  go  to  Topeka.  Of  course  I'll  have  to  ex- 
plain if  you  come  down  there  to  see  me." 

"To  Topeka?"  John  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 


I38         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Elizabeth  laughed  merrily.  "Why,  yes,"  she  said. 
"Isn't  it  like  me  to  think  you  knew  all  about  that?  I'm 
going  to  Topeka  to  school  this  winter  —  and  —  and  I  hope 
you'll  come  a  lot.  We'll  have  awfully  good  times.  Then 
I'll  teach  another  term  and  get  my  wedding  clothes  and 
get  them  made,  and  then,  John  Hunter,  I  am  yours  to 
have  and  to  hold,"  she  ended  happily. 

"You  don't  mean  that  you  are  going  to  school  again 
now  that  you  are  going  to  get  married?"  John  Hunter 
asked  with  such  incredulity  that  Elizabeth  laughed  a 
little  joyous  laugh  full  of  girlish  amusement,  full  of  love 
and  anticipation. 

"Why  of  course  —  why  not?  All  the  more  because  we 
are  going  to  be  married.  I'll  want  to  brush  up  on  lots  of 
things  before  I  have  to  live  near  your  mother;  and  —  and 
we'll  have  awfully  good  times  when  you  come  to  see  me." 

"Oh,  goodness!"  John  said  irritably.  "I'd  counted  on 
being  married  this  fall.  I  simply  can't  wait  two  years, 
and  that  is  all  there  is  about  it."  Elizabeth  argued  eas- 
ily at  first,  certain  that  it  could  be  readily  arranged, 
but  John  became  more  and  more  positive.  At  last  she 
became  worried. 

The  harvest  crickets  were  forgotten  as  the  young  girl 
pressed  closer  to  his  side,  explaining  the  necessity,  point- 
ing out  that  it  was  to  be  her  last  little  fling  at  the  educa- 
tion for  which  she  had  planned  so  long,  her  timidity  where 
his  mother  was  concerned,  and  her  desire  to  enter  the 
family  upon  equal  social  terms. 

"It  is  all  tomfoolery,"  John  answered  with  fixity  of 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         139 

purpose.  "You  don't  need  a  thing  that  you  haven't 
already  got  —  except,"  he  added  slowly,  "except  what 
mother  could  help  you  to.  But  that  isn't  the  point.  I 
shall  need  you.  It's  time  for  me  to  get  down  to  business 
and  raise  some  money.  Between  building  the  house  and 
going"  — John  hesitated  —  "and  not  applying  myself  as 
I  should,  I'm  not  making  anything  this  summer.  I  want 
to  get  away  from  this  —  from  here  —  some  day,  and  I 
want  to  begin  real  work  at  once.  Mother  can  help  you 
in  anything  you  don't  know;  she's  up  on  all  those  things; 
and  we've  got  to  get  down  to  business,"  he  repeated. 

There  was  a  tone  of  finality  in  it.  Elizabeth  recog- 
nized it,  but  her  plans  were  made  and  she  was  not  ready 
to  give  them  up. 

"  I  can't  go  into  your  house,  John,  I  simply  cannot, 
without  getting  away  and  learning  some  things.  When  I 
become  your  wife  I  want  to  be  a  woman  you  are  proud  to 
take  to  your  mother.  I  can't  have  it  otherwise." 

There  was  quiet  while  she  waited  for  the  answer  to  her 
assertion.  Elizabeth  thought  he  was  formulating  a  reply. 
The  silence  lengthened,  and  still  she  waited.  They  were 
getting  nearer  the  house  and  she  moved  more  slowly,  draw- 
ing on  his  arm  to  check  his  advance.  At  last,  realizing 
that  he  did  not  intend  to  speak  when  they  were  just  out- 
side of  the  lighted  doorstep,  Elizabeth  stopped  and,  facing 
around  so  that  she  could  see  him  in  the  dim  light,  asked: 

"What  is  it?     What  have  I  done  to  offend  you?" 

"Nothing,  only  it  upsets  every  plan  I  have  on  earth. 
I  tell  you,  it's  all  foolishness;  and  besides,  I  need  you. 


140         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Now  see  here"  —  and  he  went  on  to  show  her  how  his 
mother  knew  all  the  things  she  was  going  to  Topeka  to 
learn,  and  to  outline  his  schemes  for  the  future. 

Confused  by  his  opposition,  and  not  knowing  just  how 
to  meet  this  first  difference  of  opinion,  Elizabeth  listened 
and  made  no  reply.  It  was  her  way  to  wait  when  dis- 
turbed until  she  saw  her  way  clear.  Elizabeth  was  sound 
and  sturdy  but  not  quick  and  resourceful  when  attacked. 
John  talked  on  till  he  had  finished  his  argument  and  then 
turned  to  the  house  again.  When  they  arrived  at  the 
step  he  said  a  whispered  good-bye  and  was  gone  before 
Elizabeth  realized  that  he  was  not  coming  in  with  her. 

Susan  Hornby  had  risen  from  her  chair,  thinking  that 
John  was  coming  into  the  house,  and  when  she  saw  that 
he  did  not  she  slipped  her  arm  about  the  young  girl  and 
kissed  her  as  she  was  passing. 

"I'm  going  to  bed,  Aunt  Susan,"  Elizabeth  said,  and 
passed  on  to  the  door  of  her  own  room.  Susan  Hornby 
knew  that  something  had  gone  wrong. 

Saturday  morning  was  spent  by  Elizabeth  sewing  on 
a  dress  she  was  anxious  to  finish  before  Mrs.  Hunter  came, 
and  when  there  were  only  mornings  and  evenings  in  which 
to  sew,  and  inexperience  made  much  ripping  necessary, 
the  work  did  not  progress  rapidly.  As  she  sewed  she 
considered.  No,  she  would  not  give  up  the  year  away  at 
school.  It  was  absolutely  essential  that  she  come  into 
the  Hunter  family  equipped  and  ready  to  assume  the 
role  which  a  wife  should  play  in  it.  She  would  be  married 
without  a  whole  new  outfit  of  clothes,  but  the  year  at 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         141 

school  was  a  necessity.  Elizabeth's  pride  revolted  against 
being  taught  social  customs  by  John  Hunter's  mother. 
As  she  thought  of  the  year  he  must  spend  alone,  however, 
she  was  quite  willing  to  give  up  teaching  an  extra  year  for 
the  sake  of  the  usual  bridal  finery.  She  resolved  to  tell 
him  that.  She  would  be  married  in  the  simplest  thing  she 
had  if  he  wished. 

Fate  in  the  person  of  John  Hunter  himself  took  the 
settlement  of  the  bride's  gown  out  of  Elizabeth's  hands. 
Just  before  noon  he  stopped,  on  his  way  back  from  Cole- 
byville,  to  give  Susan  Hornby  the  mail  he  had  brought 
out  from  the  post-office.  Elizabeth  followed  him  to  the 
wagon  when  he  went  out. 

"Well,  I  wrote  mother.  Can  you  be  ready  by  October?" 
He  spoke  across  the  backs  of  the  horses  as  he  untied 
them,  and  wa-s  very  busy  with  the  straps. 

Elizabeth  Farnshaw's  face  contracted  visibly.  He  had 
taken  advantage  of  her. 

"How  could  you  do  it?"  she  asked  indignantly. 

"Why,  I  thought  it  was  settled!  I  told  you  I  couldn't 
wait  a  whole  year,  much  less  two.  I  told  you  about  get- 
ting Mitchell  County  land  and  getting  down  to  cattle 
raising  right  off.  You  didn't  say  anything." 

There  was  such  righteous  innocence  in  his  voice  that 
the  sting  of  deception  was  drawn  from  her  mind.  The 
young  girl  made  no  reply,  but  leaned  her  head  against 
the  withers  "of  the  horse  at  her  side  and  looked  down  at 
her  foot  to  hide  her  tears.  It  was  a  blow.  She  was  con- 
scious that  somehow  there  had  been  a  lack  of  high  prin- 


I42         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

ciple  in  it.  Her  silence  the  night  before  had  given  some 
colour  to  the  claim  of  it  having  been  settled,  but  there  had 
been  a  haste  about  this  letter  which  was  suspicious.  Why 
could  he  not  have  stopped  on  the  way  to  town  as  well  as 
now  on  the  way  home? 

The  question  which  was  forming  in  Elizabeth's  mind 
was  cut  short  by  feeling  John's  arm  stealing  around  her. 
She  started  and  glanced  at  the  house  apprehensively. 

"Oh,  they  can't  see  us,"  John  said,  glad  to  have  that 
phase  of  the  situation  up  for  argument.  "It  wouldn't 
matter  if  they  did,  since  we  are  to  be  married  so  soon." 
He  added  the  last  warily  and  watched  to  see  its  effect  upon 
her. 

"But  I  didn't  want  it  to  be  as  soon  as  that,"  the  girl 
objected  half-heartedly,  making  her  usual  mistake  of 
laying  the  vital  point  of  difference  away  to  be  settled  in 
her  own  mind  before  she  discussed  it.  Perhaps  after  all 
John  had  thought  it  was  settled  the  night  before;  at  any 
rate  she  would  not  speak  of  her  suspicion  till  sure  on  that 
point. 

John  Hunter  noticed  that  she  did  not  refuse  outright 
to  consent  to  the  early  marriage  and  drew  her  compla- 
cently to  him. 

"I  couldn't  wait  that  long,  sweet.  I  want  you  and  I 
want  you  now." 

He  drew  her  close,  in  a  firm,  insistent  grasp  of  his  strong 
arm.  Her  resistance  began  to  melt. 

"I  love  you,"  his  voice  said  close  to  her  ear.  She  felt 
his  eyes  seeking  hers.  His  was  the  position  of  advantage. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         143 

Elizabeth  loved  love,  and  she  had  never  had  it  before. 
She  had  never  been  wanted  for  love's  sake.  She  wished 
to  believe  him.  It  came  over  her  that  she  had  wronged 
him  by  even  the  thought  of  an  advantage  having  been 
taken  of  her.  John's  arm  was  about  her,  he  was  pleading 
his  love.  Why  be  unpleasant  about  it?  It  was  only  a 
little  thing.  As  she  had  said  in  her  engagement  hour, 
Elizabeth  wanted  love  till  she  could  die  for  it.  She  gave 
up,  though  something  in  her  held  back  and  was  left 
hungry. 

As  John  Hunter  drove  home  to  Liza  Ann's  waiting 
dinner  he  said  to  himself: 

"Gosh!  but  I'm  glad  I  got  that  letter  off.  I  knew 
I'd  better  do  it  this  morning  or  she'd  be  hanging  back. 
It  worked  better  than  I  had  any  reason  to  expect.  She's 
going  to  be  easy  to  manage.  Mother  ain't  able  to  cook 
for  hired  men.  She's  never  had  it  to  do  —  and  she  don't 
have  to  begin.  This  school  business  is  all  foolishness, 
anyhow." 

Elizabeth  did  not  stand  as  usual  and  watch  her  lover 
drive  toward  home.  Something  in  her  wanted  to  run 
away,  to  cry  out,  to  forget.  She  was  torn  by  some  in- 
definable thing;  her  confidence  had  received  a  shock.  She 
went  back  to  the  house,  but  to  sew  was  impossible  now. 
She  decided  to  go  home,  to  walk.  The  long  stretches  of 
country  road  would  give  time  and  isolation  in  which  to 
think.  She  announced  her  determination  briefly  as  she 
passed  through  the  kitchen,  oblivious  of  Aunt  Susan's 
questioning  eyes.  Snatching  up  the  large  sunbonnet 


144 

which  was  supposed  to  protect  her  from  the  browning 
effects  of  Kansas  winds  and  sun,  she  told  the  older  woman, 
who  made  no  effort  to  disguise  her  astonishment  at  the 
sudden  change,  to  tell  John  to  come  for  her  on  the  morrow, 
and  set  off  toward  the  north. 

Elizabeth  knew  that  her  father's  temper  made  her 
homegoing  an  unsafe  procedure,  but  the  tumult  within 
her  demanded  that  she  get  away  from  Susan  Hornby  and 
think  her  own  thoughts  unobserved. 

But  though  the  walk  gave  her  time  to  think,  Elizabeth 
was  no  nearer  a  decision  when  she  sighted  the  Farnshaw 
cottonwoods  than  she  had  been  when  she  started  out. 
The  sun  burned  her  shoulders  where  the  calico  dress  was 
thin,  and  she  wiped  her  perspiring  face  as  she  stopped 
determinedly  to  come  to  some  conclusion  before  she  should 
encounter  her  mother. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  give  up  to  him,"  she  said,  watch- 
ing a  furry-legged  bumblebee  as  it  moved  about  over  the 
face  of  a  yellow  rosin  weed  flower  by  the  roadside.  "I 
wouldn't  care  if  it  weren't  for  his  mother.  I'd  like  to  get 
some  of  these  country  ways  worked  out  of  me  before  I 
have  to  see  too  much  of  her.  She'll  never  feel  the  same 
toward  me  if  she  has  to  tell  me  what  to  do  and  what  not 
to  do.  If  only  he  didn't  want  me  so  badly.  If  only  I 
could  have  one  year  away." 

The  new  house  pleaded  for  John  Hunter,  the  content  of 
a  home,  life  with  the  young  man  himself.  Elizabeth  had 
reasoned  away  her  distrust  of  the  means  by  which  her 
consent  had  been  gained,  but  her  heart  clung  to  the  desire 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         145 

to  appear  well  before  Mrs.  Hunter.  Something  warned 
her  that  she  must  enter  that  house  on  an  equal  footing 
with  the  older  woman. 

"Well,  he  wants  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  glad  he  is  in  a 
hurry.  I'll  do  it.  I  ought  to  have  insisted  last  night  if 
I  meant  to  hold  out,  and  not  have  let  him  misunderstand 
me.  If  it  weren't  for  his  mother,  I  wouldn't  care." 

Having  decided  to  accept  the  terms  offered  her,  Eliza- 
beth sat  down  in  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  weeds  and 
pictured,  as  she  rested,  the  home  which  was  to  be  hers. 
Compared  to  those  of  the  farmers' wives  about  them,  it  was 
to  be  sumptuous.  She  thought  of  its  size,  its  arrangement, 
and  the  man  who  was  inviting  her  to  share  it  with  him, 
and  a  glad  little  thrill  ran  through  her.  When  Elizabeth 
began  to  sum  up  her  blessings  she  began  to  be  ashamed 
of  having  suspected  John  Hunter  of  duplicity  in  writing 
the  letter. 

"He  told  me  he  had  no  higher  desires  on  earth  than  to 
do  things  for  me,"  she  said,  springing  up  and  starting  home 
with  a  song  in  her  heart. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw,  called  to  the  door  by  the  barking  of  the 
dogs,  exclaimed: 

"What  in  this  world  brings  you  home  at  this  time  of 
day?"  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  hands  were  covered  with  the 
dough  of  her  belated  Saturday's  baking. 

"Just  had  to  come,  mummie;  just  had  to  come,"  Eliza- 
beth cried,  giving  her  mother  a  rapturous  little  hug. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  ducked  her  head  to  avoid  the  manoeuvre, 
saying  petulantly: 


146        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Look  out!  Can't  you  see  I'm  in  th'  flour  up  t'  my 
elbows." 

Elizabeth  flicked  her  dress  sleeve  and  laughed  in  merry 
derision. 

"Kansas  flour  brushes  off  easily,  ma,"  she  said,  "and 
I've  got  something  to  tell  you." 

The  corners  of  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  mouth  twitched  in  a 
pleased  effort  to  cover  a  smile. 

Elizabeth  was  surprised  at  her  own  statement.  She 
had  not  exactly  intended  to  tell  her  mother  at  this  time 
and  could  not  understand  herself  in  having  put  the  idea 
forth,  that  she  had  come  all  the  way  home  to  tell  something 
of  importance.  She  sat  down  and  leaned  her  elbows  on 
the  littered  kitchen  table  too  confused  to  speak  for  a 
moment.  She  had  made  the  plunge;  there  was  no  other 
excuse  for  the  trip  that  she  could  think  of  at  that  time, 
and,  with  a  feeling  that  Aunt  Susan  had  been  defrauded  of 
something  distinctly  belonging  to  her,  Elizabeth  broke 
the  silence  with  the  bald  statement. 

"Mr.  Hunter  and  I  are  going  to  be  married." 

"Well,  Lizzie,  that  ain't  much  news;  we  seen  it  comin' 
weeks  ago,"  the  mother  replied  with  a  laugh. 

"You  did?  I  don't  see  how  you  knew,"  the  girl  said, 
startled  out  of  her  confusion. 

"What's  he  been  comin'  here  so  steady  for?" 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  replied,  scraping  the  side  of  her  bread 
pan  with  a  kitchen  knife,  and  ready  to  enter  into  this 
delightful  bit  of  argument.  Lizzie  was  doing  well  for 
herself. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         147 

"Lots  of  girls  have  steady  company  and  don't  get  mar- 
ried either,"  the  girl  replied  hesitantly. 

"Oh,  yes,  but  this  is  different,"  the  mother  said. 
"When's  it  goin'  t' be?" 

"Some  time  in  October,"  Elizabeth  said,  her  words 
dragging.  She  had  consented,  but  the  mere  mention  of 
the  time  made  her  shrink. 

"Is  th'  house  done?"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  asked,  her  mind, 
like  her  hands,  filled  with  practical  concerns. 

"Almost,"  Elizabeth  returned  as  she  rose  to  get  the 
broom  with  which  to  sweep  the  ever  dusty  floor.  "It's 
ready  to  paint,"  she  added. 

"Is  it  goin'  t'  be  painted?  Will  it  be  white  and  have 
green  shutters?" 

Elizabeth  laughed  at  the  gratified  pride  in  her  mother's 
tone. 

"I  don't  know,  ma,"  she  said,  looking  for  the  shovel, 
which,  when  it  could  be  located,  served  as  a  dustpan. 

"Didn't  he  ask  you  what  colour  to  put  on  it?"  the 
mother  asked,  fishing  the  shovel  out  of  the  rubbish  col- 
lected behind  the  rusty  cook  stove.  "Now  look  here, 
Lizzie,"  she  added  with  sudden  suspicion,  "don't  you 
go  an'  spoil  him  right  t'  begin  with.  You  let  him  see  that 
you  want  things  your  own  way  about  th'  house.  If  you 
set  your  foot  down  now,  you'll  have  it  easier  all  th'  way 
through.  That's  where  I  made  my  mistake.  I  liked  t' 
give  up  t'  your  pa  at  first  an'  then  —  an'  then  he  got  t' 
thinkin*  I  didn't  have  no  right  t'  want  anything  my 
way." 


148         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  filled  the  hungry  stove  with  cobs  and 
studied  the  subject  dejectedly. 

"I  don't  get  my  way  about  nothin'.  I  can't  go  t'  town 
t'  pick  out  a  new  dress  that  is  bought  with  money  I  get 
from  th'  eggs,  even.  He'll  manage  most  any  way  t'  get 
off  t'  town  so's  t'  keep  me  from  knowin'  he's  goin',  an' 
then  make  me  send  th'  eggs  an'  butter  by  some  one  that's 
goin'  by.  He  makes  me  stay  home  t'  watch  something 
if  he  has  t'  let  me  know  he's  goin'  his  self.  I  don't  own 
my  house,  nor  my  children,  nor  myself." 

The  undercurrent  of  Elizabeth's  thoughts  as  she  listened 
to  the  spiritless  tale  was,  "but  John's  so  different  from 
pa." 

"I  reckon  I'll  never  have  no  help  from  you  now,"  Mrs. 
Farnshaw  continued  in  the  same  whine. 

The  girl  crossed  the  room  and  put  her  arms  tenderly 
around  her  mother's  neck. 

"I'll  live  real  near  you,  ma,  and  you  can  come  and  see 
me  every  few  days.  Don't  let 's  spoil  these  last  few  weeks 
by  worrying,"  Elizabeth  said,  her  eyes  opened  to  the 
longing  expressed. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  was  heating  the  oven  for  baking,  and 
broke  away  from  the  sympathetic  clasp  to  refill  the  roar- 
ing stove. 

"These  cobs  don't  last  a  minute,"  she  said,  and  then 
turned  to  Elizabeth  again.  "You'll  have  th'  nicest  house 
in  th'  country.  My!  won't  it  make  th'  Cranes  jealous?" 

"They  don't  count,"  Elizabeth  answered.  "I  believe 
you  think  more  of  John's  house  than  you  do  of  him." 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         149 

"No,  I  don't,  but  I'm  glad  t'  see  you  doin'  so  well  for 
yourself." 

As  she  finished  speaking,  Mr.  Farnshaw  came  into  the 
kitchen. 

"Well,  pa,  how  do  you  do?"  Elizabeth  said,  turning 
toward  him  pleasantly.  She  wanted  to  tell  him  of  her 
engagement,  now  that  she  had  told  her  mother,  and  she 
wanted  to  be  at  peace  with  him. 

Mr.  Farnshaw  mumbled  a  curt  reply  and,  picking  up 
the  empty  basket  standing  beside  the  stove,  went  out  of 
the  house,  slamming  the  door  behind  him  significantly. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  him  myself,"  Elizabeth  said  with  a 
half-shamed  look  in  her  mother's  direction.  "I'm  glad 
all  men  aren't  like  that." 

"Well,  he  remembers  that  awful  thing  you  said  about 
partin' "  Mrs.  Farnshaw  began. 

"But  this  isn't  any  new  thing  in  him,  ma.  He's  always 
been  that  way,"  Elizabeth  objected,  determined  not  to  let 
her  mother  start  on  that  subject  to-day. 

"Oh,  I  know  it!  They  all  get  that  way  if  they're  let: 
think  they  own  everything  in  sight.  They  get  worse,  too, 
as  they  get  older.  You  do  what  I  said  an'  set  your  foot 
down  about  that  house,"  her  mother  replied,  and  turned 
to  put  a  pan  of  bread  in  the  oven. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ERASING   HER   BLACKBOARD 

JOHN'S  attention  centred  about  the  new  house  and 
each  day  found  him  more  impatient  to  see  it  fin- 
ished. The  creature  comforts  of  life  were  his 
main  ideals  and  he  wanted  to  get  settled.  Sunday 
afternoon  found  him  early  at  Nathan's  to  consult  with 
Elizabeth  about  the  kitchen  windows.  Susan  Hornby's 
surprised  recognition  of  his  annoyance,  when  he  was  told 
that  she  had  gone  home,  added  to  the  unpleasantness  of 
the  eight-mile  drive.  What  business  had  that  woman 
studying  him  or  his  moods?  he  asked  himself  as  he  drove 
away.  He  would  not  get  out  of  the  wagon  when  he  reached 
Elizabeth's  home,  though  the  sun  was  hot  and  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw  urged  him  to  do  so.  He  was  irritated,  he  did  not 
know  at  what,  but  he  was.  He  hurried  Elizabeth  away 
without  ceremony.  As  soon  as  they  were  beyond  ear- 
shot he  began  to  voice  his  grievances.  The  point  he  dis- 
cussed had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  real  ground 
for  his  irritability,  but  served  as  an  outlet  for  his  acrid 
frame  of  mind. 

"  If  you  want  to  go  anywhere,  let  me  know  it  so  that  I 
can  take  you.  I  can't  have  you  running  around  the  coun- 
try in  this  fashion,"  he  began. 

150 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAW1XT        151 

Elizabeth,  who  had  felt  his  manner,  looked  up  in  puz- 
zled surprise.  She  could  see  nothing  in  that  to  be  fretted 
about.  It  was  so  good  to  see  him,  to  have  him  with  her 
again  after  a  night  spent  in  her  father's  house,  that  she 
was  ready  to  concede  any  point  her  lover  might  raise,  but 
this  seemed  so  trivial  that  she  laughed  a  happy  laugh  as 
she  answered  caressingly: 

"I  have  always  walked  whenever  and  wherever  I  chose 
around  here.  I  like  it,  dear." 

"That  don't  make  any  difference;  it  ain't  good  for  any 
woman  to  walk  eight  miles  at  one  time,"  John  answered 
shortly. 

Unable  to  see  the  reason  for  laying  stress  upon  the 
danger  in  doing  a  thing  she  had  done  for  years  without 
harm  to  herself,  Elizabeth  was  surprised  into  continuing 
the  argument  without  at  all  caring  whether  she  ever 
walked  again  or  not. 

"I've  walked  that  much  a  hundred  times  in  my  life, 
and  I'll  probably  walk  it  a  hundred  times  more,"  she  re- 
plied with  a  laugh. 

"  Not  if  you  live  with  me,"  JohnHunter  announced,stand- 
ing  as  solid  as  a  rock  on  the  issue  now  that  he  had  raised  it. 

"But  why  not?"  the  girl  inquired,  still  but  little  con- 
cerned, and  looking  her  betrothed  over  with  a  girl's  eye 
for  correct  combinations  of  collar,  tie,  and  driving  gloves. 
Those  gloves  had  been  the  chief  objection  Elizabeth's 
brothers  had  been  able  to  raise  against  the  Eastern  man, 
and  gave  colour  to  the  spiteful  "dude"  with  which  John 
Hunter  was  mentioned  by  the  envious. 


1 52         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN' 

"Why  not?"  John  repeated  after  her.  "Because  it 
don't  look  well." 

The  ridiculous  and  inadequate  reply  drew  the  girl  still 
deeper  into  the  discussion.  She  began  to  reason  with  him 
quite  earnestly.  She  had  always  walked  a  great  deal;  she 
loved  it.  Walking  was  jolly  fun.  Everybody  knew  she 
was  not  as  dependent  upon  being  taken  as  the  ordinary 
woman.  When,  however,  John  would  not  give  in  and 
insisted  that  things  were  different  now  that  they  were 
engaged,  she  ceased  to  say  more. 

"You  see,"  he  concluded,  "people  expect  me  to  take 
you.  They'll  think  something's  happened  and  that  I 
don't  want  to.  If  I  want  to  take  my  future  wife,  she 
ought  to  be  willing  to  be  taken.  I  don't  want  you  ever 
to  walk  home  again." 

Elizabeth  Farnshaw  was  young,  the  experiences  of  her 
night  at  home  had  made  her  covet  peace,  she  was  unaware 
that  she  was  being  moulded,  or  that  her  lover  considered 
the  Hunter  ways,  as  such,  especially  desirable.  Willing 
to  pay  the  price,  rather  enjoying  the  masterful  way  in 
which  her  betrothed  insisted  upon  serving  her,  reflecting 
that  no  one  had  ever  been  willing  to  serve  her  at  all,  and 
feeling  that  it  was  a  minor  matter,  she  gave  up. 

"All  right!  I  like  to  walk,  but  if  you  look  at  it  in  that 
way  I  won't  do  it  again,"  she  promised,  and  in  the  silence 
which  followed  stole  a  look  now  and  then  at  John  Hunter, 
revelling  in  his  well-groomed  appearance.  A  vision  of  her 
father's  slatternly,  one-suspendered  shoulders,  and  button- 
less  sleeves  flapping  about  his  rough  brown  wrists,  set 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         153 

against  this  well-shirted  gentleman  produced  sharp  con- 
trast and  made  of  the  future  a  thing  altogether  desirable. 
The  useless  arguments  between  her  parents  arose  before 
her  also;  she  resolved  to  argue  less  and  love  more.  It  was 
something,  she  reflected,  to  know  when  to  lay  an  argument 
down.  Besides,  John  wanted  it.  Leaning  over,  she 
rubbed  her  cheek  softly  against  his  sleeve. 

"I  never  thought  I  could  be  so  happy."  The  words 
were  whispered  tenderly,  as  she  looked  up  into  his  face. 

Could  mortal  man  fail  to  appreciate  the  manner  of  the 
surrender?  There  was  nothing  left  to  argue  about;  all 
had  been  granted.  Elizabeth  was  learning,  as  all  women 
have  had  to  do  before  her,  that  the  man-creature  loves  to 
be  adored,  that  by  cloaking  her  own  desires,  stroking  his 
fur  the  right  way,  giving  it  little  pats  of  approval  and 
admitting  the  pleasure  conferred  by  his  presence,  she 
could  work  a  magic.  John's  arm  dropped  about  her  and 
she  gave  herself  up  to  the  delights  of  being  cuddled. 

It  was  not  possible  for  the  inexperienced  girl  to  measure 
the  importance  of  the  freedom  she  had  surrendered. 
Elizabeth  desired  to  forget  the  unpleasant  things.  Real 
issues  were  obscured  for  the  girl  by  her  desire  to  escape 
from  her  father's  house.  In  addition  to  that,  Elizabeth 
had  not  yet  become  analytical.  Instead  of  meditating 
upon  the  manner  or  the  positiveness  of  her  lover's  com- 
mands, she  took  counsel  with  herself  how  to  make  their 
lives  different  from  her  parents',  and  in  her  efforts  to  keep 
her  own  attitude  right  forgot  to  see  to  it  that  there  was  a 
similar  attitude  on  the  part  of  her  future  husband. 


154 

As  they  drove  along  with  John's  arm  about  her  they 
ceased  to  talk,  and  Elizabeth's  thoughts  drifted  off  to  her 
affairs  with  her  father  and  the  night  just  spent  at  home. 
Mr.  Farnshaw  had  adopted  the  policy  of  contemptuous 
silence  toward  her,  and  Elizabeth  hoped  devoutly  that  he 
would  continue  in  that  frame  of  mind.  Only  so  would  she 
dare  to  spend  at  home  the  weeks  between  the  close  of 
school  and  her  marriage.  She  had  counted  much  upon 
spending  those  weeks  with  Aunt  Susan,  who  daily  became 
dearer.  She  was  not  moved  to  tell  Aunt  Susan  girlish 
secrets,  but  she  was  understood  and  rightly  valued  in 
Susan  Hornby's  home;  and  now,  during  this  one  of  all  the 
critical  periods  in  her  life  the  most  important,  Elizabeth 
desired  to  be  with  her,  but  Mrs.  Farnshaw  demanded  un- 
comprisingly  that  her  daughter  come  home  at  that  time. 
There  was  no  escaping  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  demands  on  her 
children,  and,  troubled  and  uncertain,  Elizabeth  pondered 
and  snuggled  closer  to  the  man  who  was  to  deliver  her 
from  them. 

The  pair  drove  to  the  new  house  before  going  to  the 
Hornbys'  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  John  ceased  to  be  fret- 
ful, and  by  the  time  for  leaving  had  arrived,  Elizabeth  had 
forgotten  that  he  had  ever  been  so.  That  evening  Aunt 
Susan  was  told  of  the  engagement,  and  having  divined 
its  arrival,  she  was  able  to  hide  any  misgivings  she  had 
about  it.  Besides,  not  having  anything  upon  which  to 
fasten  her  objections  to  John  Hunter,  she  was  wise  enough 
to  know  that  love  must  have  its  way,  and  when  Elizabeth 
pictured  the  life  that  awaited  her,  her  lover's  good  points, 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         155 

and  her  satisfaction  rang  out  in  a  song  of  glad  notes  with 
no  hint  of  apprehension,  the  older  woman  tried  to  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  the  hour. 

Elizabeth  was  certain  she  could  meet  John  Hunter's 
moods  as  the  occasion  required.  No  doubts  assailed  her 
about  the  future  life  except  where  John's  mother  was  con- 
cerned. When  Elizabeth  got  to  that  point  in  her  reflec- 
tions she  stopped  short  without  speaking  of  the  matter 
and  announced  her  intention  of  going  to  bed.  Elizabeth 
Farnshaw  loved  John  Hunter  devotedly,  but  his  mother 
was  another  matter.  There  was  a  strong  undercurrent  of 
anxiety  whenever  Mrs.  Hunter  had  to  be  considered.  The 
nearer  the  time  came  for  her  arrival,  the  more  the  girl 
dreaded  meeting  her.  Elizabeth  was  loyal  to  John,  how- 
ever, and  Susan  Hornby  was  given  no  hint  of  that  dread. 

Mrs.  Hunter  came  west  the  last  week  of  school,  and 
when  John  was  so  busy  getting  her  and  her  household 
goods  settled  that  Elizabeth  did  not  see  him  the  entire 
week,  it  was  like  a  stab  to  the  sensitive  girl.  Filled  with  a 
natural  sense  of  good-byes  to  all  that  she  had  known  and 
loved  in  the  work,  the  impending  changes  in  her  life  took 
on  a  troubled  air  when  John  failed  to  come  as  usual  and 
did  not  account  for  the  delay.  By  some  psychological 
process  Susan  Hornby's  misgivings  began  to  be  trans- 
ferred to  Elizabeth's  mind.  Always  as  they  sewed  to- 
gether Elizabeth  was  tempted  to  talk  about  the  subject, 
but  something  held  her  back.  Often  Susan  Hornby,  who 
suspected  her  troubled  state  of  mind,  was  moved  to  ask 
questions  and  could  not. 


156         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

A  week  is  a  long  time  when  anxiety  governs  the  thoughts, 
and  as  Elizabeth  grew  more  lonely  she  crept  into  Aunt 
Susan's  arms  as  well  as  into  her  heart.  It  became  her 
custom  to  creep  up  to  the  older  woman  after  the  lamps 
were  lighted  and  lay  her  hea'd  in  her  lap,  while  she  would 
imprison  one  of  Aunt  Susan's  hands  so  as  to  be  able  to 
fondle  it.  The  evidences  of  affection  became  more  and 
more  a  part  of  her  thoughts  now  that  the  days  were  slip- 
ping by  without  receiving  those  evidences  from  the  one 
who  had  educated  her  in  them. 

The  last  day  of  school  arrived.  John  had  told  Eliza- 
beth the  week  before  that  he  expected  to  take  her  and  her 
trunk  home,  but  not  having  seen  him  nor  had  a  word  from 
him  recently  regarding  the  matter,  a  strange  feeling  of 
disaster  made  the  closing  school  exercises  unreal  and  un- 
interesting. After  the  children  were  gone,  Elizabeth  be- 
gan the  task  of  cleaning  the  schoolroom  and  putting  it  in 
order.  She  set  about  the  work  slowly,  making  it  last  as 
long  as  she  could.  School  teaching  had  been  pleasant 
work.  It  had  been  the  one  free  field  of  action  life  had  ever 
granted  her,  the  one  point  where  she  had  ever  possessed 
herself  and  moved  unquestioned.  The  presence  of  John 
Hunter's  mother  in  the  community  had  made  the 
teaching  seem  a  refuge  to  the  young  girl  who  was  to 
live  in  the  house  with  her.  Elizabeth  had  not  under- 
stood that  Mrs.  Hunter  was  actually  to  live  with  them 
till  a  short  time  before  her  arrival,  and  then  had  very 
nearly  given  offence  to  her  lover  by  an  astonished  exclama- 
tion of  surprise.  Perceiving  that  she  had  done  so  she 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         157 

hastened  to  say  that  she  would  be  very  glad  to  have  his 
mother  with  them.  As  soon  as  Elizabeth  had  got  away, 
and  taken  time  to  think  it  out,  she  saw  that  she  had  lied. 
John  also  knew  that  it  was  not  exactly  true,  and  was  there- 
fore more  sensitive.  It  had  been  the  first  point  of  real 
difference  between  them.  There  had  been  no  discussion 
of  it.  Elizabeth  would  have  been  glad  to  go  to  him  and 
say  that  she  wished  it,  but  she  did  not  wish  it  and  would 
not  lie  consciously.  If  it  had  to  be,  she  would  make  the 
best  of  it  and  make  his  mother  as  welcome  as  she  could, 
but  with  the  instincts  of  all  young  things,  the  girl  wanted 
to  live  alone  with  her  mate.  The  unnaturalness  of  having 
others  thrust  upon  them  during  that  first  year  of  married 
life  jarred  upon  her,  just  as  it  has  jarred  upon  every  bride 
who  has  been  compelled  to  endure  it  since  the  beginning  of 
time.  It  made  of  the  new  home  a  workshop  instead  of  a 
nest,  and  took  from  the  glamour  of  marriage.  It  made 
the  girl  cling  to  the  freedom  of  the  country  schoolhouse 
and  fear  the  new  life,  where  the  examples  presented  to  her 
by  those  who  had  tried  it  were  discouraging  to  an  observ- 
ant onlooker.  All  this  came  up  as  she  worked,  and  sad- 
dened the  day  even  more  than  before.  As  she  put  the 
broom  away  in  the  corner  beside  the  water  pail,  she  noticed 
that  the  blackboard  remained  to  be  cleaned.  Taking  an 
eraser  she  rubbed  vigorously. 

"It  is  a  rat.  Run,  rat,  run,"  begun  as  high  as  little 
arms  could  reach,  and  straggling  zigzagingly  down  toward 
the  bottom,  was  the  last  to  be  attacked.  As  her  hand 
passed  reluctantly  over  it  she  said  aloud: 


i  S8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"I'm  erasing  my  blackboard  too.  Pretty  soon  I  won't 
be  a  girl  any  more.  Pretty  soon 

She  checked  herself,  and  putting  away  the  eraser, 
packed  the  few  belongings  in  the  drawer  of  the  desk  into 
a  neat  bundle  to  be  carried  home.  With  the  package 
under  her  arm  and  her  little  tin  dinner  pail  dangling  from 
her  wrist,  Elizabeth  fitted  the  key  into  the  lock.  As  it 
clicked  under  her  fingers  the  thought  came  to  her  that  she 
must  turn  it  over  to  the  school  board.  The  finality  of  it 
clutched  her.  Thrusting  the  key  back  into  the  door,  she 
was  about  to  go  into  the  little  room  again  for  another  look 
around,  when  Susan  Hornby's  voice  at  her  elbow  made 
her  start. 

Aunt  Susan  saw  the  tears  which  had  sprung  into  the 
young  eyes  at  the  leave-taking  and  drew  her  down  on  the 
step. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  earnestly.  "You  ought  to 
tell  me  if  you  are  worried. 

The  tears  which  had  been  gathering  spilled  themselves 
over  cheek  and  chin. 

"Will  I  get  like  the  rest  of  them,  Aunt  Susan?  —  never 
go  anywhere,  never  read  anything,  have  nothing  ahead 
but  the  same  weary  round  over  again  every  day?"  she 
queried,  when  she  was  able  to  command  her  voice. 

Susan  Hornby's  face  worked  determinedly  to  control 
her  own  emotions  for  a  moment  before  she  could  speak. 

Elizabeth  continued :  "  I've  been  —  I've  been  so  happy 
this  summer,  Aunt  Susan,  and  —  and  I'm  a  little  afraid  of 
that  other  life.  Don't  think  I  don't  want  to  be  married 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         159 

—  I  do,"  she  felt  bound  to  interpose.  "It's  just  —  just 
that  —  well,  you  can  see  how  it  is;  the  married  women 
around  here  wear  faded  things,  and  —  and  their  teeth  get 
bad  —  and  a  man  hardly  ever  wants  to  take  his  wife  any- 
where. Look  at  Mrs.  Carter,  and  Mrs.  Crane,  and  ma. 
Poor  ma!  She  never  gets  to  go  anywhere  she  wants  to." 

The  girlish  questionings  and  fears  broke  down  Susan 
Hornby's  control  and  she  fell  on  Elizabeth's  neck  and 
sobbed  openly  as  she  said: 

"I  know,  I  know.  I've  thought  of  little  else  of  late. 
My  poor  little  ewe  lamb !  My  poor  little  ewe  lamb ! " 

The  ethics  of  Susan  Hornby's  generation  did  not  permit 
of  an  outright  discussion  of  the  marriage  relation.  She 
did  not  have  the  matter  clear  in  her  own  mind,  but  a  sort 
of  dull  terror  came  over  her  whenever  she  thought  of 
Elizabeth  becoming  John  Hunter's  wife.  She  could  hardly 
have  told  why.  She  knew  that  somehow  human  beings 
missed  the  highest  in  the  marriage  relation  and  that  the 
undiscussed  things  of  life  had  to  do  with  the  failure;  she 
knew  also  that  her  instincts  regarding  this  marriage  were 
true,  but  she  could  sound  no  warning  because  her  knowl- 
edge came  from  the  instincts  and  had  no  outward  evidence 
of  fact  with  which  to  support  it.  To  how  large  a  degree 
did  these  warnings  apply  to  all?  Susan  Hornby  had 
plenty  of  time  to  wonder  and  think,  for  Elizabeth  cried 
softly  to  herself  without  speaking  further.  The  older 
woman's  hand  wandered  over  the  glossy  braids  in  her  lap, 
and  her  eyes  wandered  off  toward  the  Carter  homestead 
while  her  mind  struggled  with  the  problems  of  the  neigh- 


160        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

bourhood.  Elizabeth  had  put  into  words  a  thing  she  had 
herself  observed.  She  saw  the  irritability  of  men  toward 
their  wives;  she  saw  women  about  them  who  toiled  earn- 
estly, who  bore  children,  and  who  denied  themselves  every 
sort  of  pleasurable  relation  at  the  demand  of  husbands 
who  never  gave  them  a  look  of  comradery  or  good  fellow- 
ship in  return.  Was  it  the  weariness  of  the  struggle  to 
live,  or  was  it  sex,  or  was  it  the  evil  domination  of  men? 
This  girl  whose  sunny  hair  she  was  caressing  was  to  go 
under  the  merciless  hammer  of  the  matrimonial  auctioneer. 
What  was  to  be  her  fate?  Susan  Hornby  saw  that  love  had 
touched  the  highest  in  Elizabeth  Farnshaw's  nature  and 
that  the  girl  yearned  toward  a  high  ideal  of  family  life. 
She  had  shown  it  in  her  girlish  chatter  as  they  had  sewed 
together.  Could  she  attain  to  it?  Susan  Hornby  thought 
of  John  Hunter  and  stiffened.  She  felt  that  Elizabeth 
would  yearn  toward  it  all  the  days  of  her  life  with  him 
and  never  catch  even  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  it. 

Elizabeth  snuggled  closer  on  the  step  and  reached  for 
the  hand  stroking  her  head. 

"It  isn't  the  faded  dresses,  Aunt  Susan;  it's  —  it's  the 
faded  life  I'm  afraid  of,"  she  whispered  thickly. 

Susan  Hornby  bent  her  head  to  catch  the  sobbing  voice, 
and  losing  control  of  her  reserve,  said  abruptly:  "I 
know  it,  I  know  all  about  it.  If  I  thought  John  Hunter'd 
let  you  set  at  home  like " 

She  knew  while  the  words  were  still  in  her  mouth  that 
it  was  a  mistake.  The  girl  shrank  away  and  dropped  the 
hand  she  had  been  fondling.  There  was  absolute  silence 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         161 

for  a  moment,  the  older  woman  dumb,  unable  to  go  on, 
unable  to  explain,  unable  to  retract,  or  extricate  herself  in 
any  way.  The  discussion  had  promised  so  well  at  first  that 
both  had  entered  into  it  with  zest,  and  yet  the  moment 
it  had  become  personal,  loyalty  had  risen  between  them 
and  hushed  their  words  and  left  them  uncomfortable. 
The  silence  became  so  intolerable  that  Elizabeth  arose, 
and  unable  to  look  up  turned  and  fumbled  with  the  lock 
on  the  schoolhouse  door.  Aunt  Susan  rose  also  and 
waited,  without  speaking,  for  her  to  start  home.  Some- 
thing hurt  on  both  sides.  Neither  blamed  the  other,  but 
both  were  to  look  back  to  the  rough  schoolhouse  steps 
and  the  half-hearted  discussion  of  man's  domination  and 
woman's  inability  to  defend  herself  against  it. 

Before  supper  was  quite  finished  John  came  to  take 
Elizabeth  to  meet  his  mother.  He  was  all  bustle  and  ac- 
tivity; in  fact,  John  Hunter  was  at  his  best.  He  took  pos- 
session of  her  in  exactly  the  way  to  show  how  unnecessary 
her  fears  had  been.  The  reaction  set  in.  John  was  fresh 
and  clean  of  linen  and  finger-nails  and  pleasing  to  the  eye. 
Elizabeth's  mood  changed  the  moment  he  presented  him- 
self on  Nathan's  doorstep.  Every  fear  of  the  faded  life 
disappeared  in  his  magical  presence.  John  Hunter  at 
least  was  not  faded.  After  all,  Elizabeth  had  been  a  bit 
piqued  and  really  wanted  to  meet  Mrs.  Hunter.  John 
whisked  her  off  merrily  and  carried  her  to  the  home  which 
was  to  be  theirs. 

"Mother,  this  is  Elizabeth  Farnshaw,  soon  to  be  your 
daughter,"  was  the  introduction  he  gave  her  when  his 


162         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

mother  met  them  at  the  door,  and  then  watched  narrowly 
to  see  what  sort  of  impression  Elizabeth  would  make. 

Mrs.  Hunter  kissed  the  girl  gravely,  and  still  retaining 
her  hand  stepped  back  and  looked  at  her  curiously,  but 
kindly. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  to  be  John's  wife,  dear,"  she  said 
slowly.  "I  am  sure  we  shall  like  each  other.  We  must 
—  he  is  all  I  have,  you  know." 

Elizabeth,  who  had  felt  herself  on  trial,  was  near  tears, 
but  her  lover  saved  her  from  that  embarrassment  when, 
feeling  that  the  Hunter  approval  was  accorded,  he  stepped 
forward  and  put  his  arms  about  the  two,  kissing  first  one 
and  then  the  other. 

"My  mother  and  my  wife-to-be  must  certainly  like  each 
other,"  he  said. 

They  passed  into  the  house,  over  which  John  and  his 
mother  conducted  Elizabeth,  talking  of  its  arrangement 
and  furnishings.  The  girl  had  supposed  that  she  had  a 
fairly  definite  idea  of  the  appearance  that  house  would 
have,  having  overseen  every  feature  of  its  building,  but 
it  was  a  world  of  surprises  she  entered  upon  to-day.  In 
her  wildest  dreams  of  what  they  would  do  when  they  had 
become  rich,  as  they  had  planned  much  to  do,  this  daugh- 
ter of  the  Kansas  prairies  had  never  pictured  such  taste- 
ful home-making.  Each  bedroom  had  its  bureau  with 
bedstead  to  match,  and  the  one  downstairs  had  ruffled 
pillow-shams. 

"This  is  to  be  your  own  room,"  Mrs.  Hunter  whispered 
in  Elizabeth's  ear,  and  the  young  girl  stole  a  shy  look  at 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         163 

her  lover,  who  was  drumming  on  the  window  and  had  not 
heard,  and  made  no  reply,  but  it  gave  her  a  sense  of  pos- 
session in  the  new  house  which  she  had  very  nearly  lost  of 
late. 

It  was  reserved  for  the  new  cook  stove  in  the  spotless 
kitchen  to  complete  the  surprises  of  Elizabeth's  new  world. 
Elizabeth  fingered  the  nickled  knobs,  exclaimed  over 
the  reservoir  for  hot  water  at  its  back  and  the  warming 
closet  below,  and  investigated  all  its  secret  places  as  if  it 
had  been  a  toy.  John  Hunter  gave  his  mother  an  ap- 
proving nod  behind  the  girl's  back,  and  the  visit  was  a 
success.  Elizabeth  forgot  that  she  was  to  share  the 
honours  of  the  home  with  "  Mother  Hunter,"  as  she  had 
secretly  called  her  a  few  times,  and  in  the  end  overstayed 
her  time  till  the  leave-taking  at  Aunt  Susan's  had  to  be  cut 
short,  and  they  were  late  in  arriving  at  her  father's  house. 

The  day,  which  had  had  so  many  variations,  however, 
like  a  piece  of  music,  was  to  return  to  the  original  theme 
before  it  closed.  It  had  been  a  day  of  forebodings  and 
anxiety.  Fate  never  permitted  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  more 
than  a  short  snatch  at  happiness,  and  as  John  Hunter 
drove  away  after  he  had  helped  her  deposit  her  trunk  in 
a  dusty  corner,  the  girl  wanted  to  run  after  him  and  im- 
plore him  not  to  leave  her  at  the  mercy  of  the  morrow. 

As  she  gazed  about  the  cheerless  kitchen  she  noticed  a 
muffled  lump  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  The  sponge  for 
the  Saturday's  baking  had  been  warmly  wrapped  for  the 
night.  To-morrow  would  be  bake  day!  Oh,  joy!  Eliza- 
beth resolved  to  insist  upon  kneading  the  dough  the  next 


164         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

morning,  and  before  starting  up  the  ladder  to  the  loft 
where  she  was  to  sleep  she  hunted  around  in  the  kitchen 
safe  for  the  cook  book,  wondering  if  by  any  chance  she 
could  induce  her  mother  to  let  her  try  her  hand  at  baking 
a  cake  also. 

"Go  to  bed,  in  there!"  growled  a  voice  from  the  other 
room,  and  the  girl  climbed  to  her  pallet,  on  which  dreams 
of  cooking  were  to  entertain  her  waking  as  well  as  her 
sleeping  hours. 

Elizabeth's  cooking  schemes  turned  out  rather  better 
than  she  had  expected.  There  are  some  things  common 
to  all  women,  and  Mrs.  Farnshaw  entered  into  her 
daughter's  desire  to  learn  to  cater  to  the  appetite  of  the 
man  she  was  going  to  marry.  She  worked  with  the  girl 
at  the  home-made  kitchen  table,  and  as  they  worked  she 
talked  of  many  things  which  to  her  mind  were  essential 
to  preparations  for  marriage,  of  the  dresses  to  be  made,  of 
the  new  house,  which  was  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  pride,  and  of 
John  Hunter  himself.  By  some  unlucky  chance  Eliza- 
beth mentioned  her  father's  name.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  had 
been  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  speak  of  the  misunder- 
standing between  her  husband  and  their  daughter.  It  is 
the  tendency  of  the  weak  to  waste  much  time  and  energy 
in  reconciliations,  and  to  Mrs.  Farnshaw  peace  meant  far 
more  than  principles.  She  gave  little  thought  to  the 
Tightness  of  her  husband's  demands,  but  bent  every 
faculty  toward  coaxing  her  family  to  accede  to  them. 
If  he  were  angry,  all  must  move  in  cautious  attempt  to 
placate  his  temper,  and  if  his  feelings  were  hurt  no  prin- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         165 

ciple  must  be  permitted  to  stand  in  the  way  of  excuse  and 
explanation.  She  was  rejoiced  when  Elizabeth  men- 
tioned her  father's  name  and  forced  upon  her  at  once  the 
necessity  of  asking  pardon  for  the  luckless  remark  regard- 
ing separation  which  Mr.  Farnshaw  had  overheard  three 
months  before. 

"But  it  isn't  a  particle  of  use,  ma,"  Elizabeth  replied 
when  pushed  to  the  point  of  answering.  "You  know  he'll 
hate  me  now,  no  matter  what  I  ever  do.  I've  only  got 
along  peaceably  this  far  by  not  talking  to  him  of  anything 
at  all.  It's  his  way.  Let  it  alone.  I'm  sorry  I  ever  said 
it,  but  it  can't  be  helped.'" 

"Yes,  it  can,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  persisted.  "Anyhow, 
he's  your  pa,  an'  —  an'  —  an'  you  owe  it  t'  him.  You 
owe  it  t'  me  too,  t'  make  it  right.  I'll  never  have  a  day  of 
peace  with  him  again  if  you  don't.  You'd  no  business  t' 
talk  of  partin'  nohow !  'Taint  decent,  an'  —  an'  it  give 
him  th'  feelin'  that  I  'was  sidin'  in  with  such  talk." 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  been  shrewd  enough  to  save  her 
strongest  point  till  the  last.  That  was  the  lever  by  which 
she  could  pry  Elizabeth  loose  from  her  seated  conviction 
that  nothing  could  be  done.  Those  sentiments  had  been 
Elizabeth's,  not  her  mother's.  Something  was  due  the 
mother  who  had  been  compelled  to  share  the  blame  for 
words  as  abhorrent  to  her  as  they  were  to  the  irate  husband 
who  supposed  she  had  instigated  them.  Elizabeth  knew 
that  her  mother  would  never  have  a  day  of  peace  with  the 
man  in  anycase,but  she  knewfrom  her  own  experience  with 
him  that  a  remark  such  as  she  had  made  would  be  used 


166         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

to  worry  her  mother  and  to  stir  even  more  bitter  accusa- 
tions than  usual.  In  her  heart  she  knew  that  nothing  she 
could  say  would  change  her  father's  feelings  or  alter  his 
belief  about  the  matter,  but  she  did  feel  that  her  mother 
was  justified  from  her  own  standpoint  in  making  the  de- 
mand. As  she  stirred  the  cake  dough  and  pondered,  she 
glanced  across  the  table  to  the  open  door  of  her  mother's 
scantily  furnished  bedroom  opposite.  A  vision  of  ruffled 
pillow-shams  where  she  was  soon  to  sleep  came  to  her  in 
strong  contrast.  The  memory  of  muffled  sobs  which  she 
had  heard  coming  from  that  poverty-stricken  couch  in  the 
corner  opposite  the  door  was  set  over  against  the  peaceful 
look  of  the  room  which  was  to  be  hers.  She  was  going 
away  to  be  happy:  why  not  do  this  thing  her  mother  asked 
before  she  went?  Elizabeth  knew  that  her  attempt  at 
reconciliation  would  be  fruitless,  but  she  resolved  to  do  the 
best  she  could  to  leave  all  possible  comfort  to  the  mother 
whose  portion  was  sorrow  and  bread  eaten  in  bitterness 
and  disappointment.  She  thought  it  out  slowly.  After 
pondering  a  long  time,  during  which  Mrs.  Farnshaw 
studied  her  but  did  not  speak,  Elizabeth  delivered  her 
promise. 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  ma.  I  don't  believe  it'll  do  any 
good,  but  it  isn't  fair  that  you  should  suffer  for  a  thing  you 
hate  as  bad  as  he  does.  Don't  let's  talk  about  it,  and 
let  me  find  my  own  time  to  do  it.  I'll  —  I'll  do  my  very 
best." 

Pushing  the  cake-bowl  away  from  her,  she  went  around 
the  table,  and  taking  her  mother's  face  between  her  hands 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         167 

she  stroked  the  thin  hair  away  from  the  wasted  forehead, 
and  kissed  her  with  a  tenderness  which  brought  a  quiver  to 
the  unsatisfied  lips. 

"  I'll  do  it  as  well  as  I  possibly  know  how.  I  —  I'm 
going  away  to  be  happy,  and  —  and  I  want  you  to  be 
happy  too." 

It  was  easier  to  say  than  to  do,  for  things  went  wrong 
about  the  barn,  and  when  supper  time  arrived  Elizabeth 
decided  to  wait  for  a  more  propitious  time. 

In  spite  of  her  determination  to  get  the  disagreeable 
task  behind  her  as  soon  as  possible,  Elizabeth  could  find 
no  chance  at  the  breakfast  table  the  next  morning  to 
broach  the  subject,  though  she  tried  several  times.  Mrs. 
Farnshaw  gave  her  warning  looks,  but  it  was  clearly  not 
the  time.  When  at  last  the  family  was  ready  for  divine 
services  and  Mr.  Farnshaw  drove  up  in  front  of  the  house 
with  the  lumber  wagon,  the  mother  gave  Elizabeth  a  little 
push  toward  the  door,  admonishing  her  to  "be  quick 
about  it.  Now's  your  time." 

Elizabeth  went  slowly  out.  Mr.  Farnshaw  had  just 
jumped  out  of  the  wagon  and  when  he  saw  his  daughter 
coming  stooped  quickly  to  examine  the  leather  shoe  sole 
which  served  to  protect  the  brake.  The  elaborate  at- 
tempt to  ignore  her  presence  made  the  hard  duty  still 
harder.  She  waited  for  him  to  take  cognizance  of  her 
presence,  and  to  cover  her  confusion  adjusted  and  read- 
justed a  strap  on  Patsie's  harness,  thankful  for  the  pres- 
ence of  her  favourite. 

"Let  that  harness  alone!"  her  father  commanded  when 


168         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

he  was  at  last  embarrassed  by  his  prolonged  inspection 
of  the  wagon-brake. 

"All  right,  pa,"  Elizabeth  replied,  glad  to  have  the 
silence  broken  in  any  manner.  "I  —  I  came  out  to  talk 
to  you.  If  I  —  if  I've  done  anything  to  annoy  you,  ever, 
I  want  to  ask  your  pardon.  I  —  ma  —  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  John  Hunter  and  I  are  to  be  married  this  fall,  and 
—  and  I'd  like  to  be  the  kind  of  friends  we  ought  to  be 
before  I  go  away." 

The  last  sounded  rather  good  to  the  girl  and  she 
stopped,  encouraged,  also  feeling  that  it  was  best  to  let 
well  enough  alone;  but  when  she  looked  up  at  him  and 
encountered  his  look  she  shrank  as  if  to  avoid  some- 
thing aimed  at  her. 

The  tyrant  detests  anything  which  cringes  before  him, 
and  Josiah  Farnshaw  was  as  much  fired  to  anger  by  what 
he  saw  in  his  daughter's  face  as  he  could  have  been  by 
her  defiance. 

"Oh,  I  know  you'd  like  to  be  friends!"  he  sneered  with 
the  fierce  hatred  of  a  man  caught  in  an  evil  act.  "Now 
that  you're  goin'  away  you'd  like  t'  be  on  good  terms  with 
me,  would  you?  How  many  cows  would  you  like  for 
your  peaceable  intentions?  What's  th'  price  of  your 
friendship,  anyhow?  Of  course  you  don't  owe  me  any- 
thing! You're  a  lady!  Now  that  you're  goin'  t'  set  up 
housekeepin'  you'd  like  t'  be  good  friends.  You'll  get 
nothin'  from  me;  I'll  let  you  know  that  right  here  and  now. 
Go  along  with  you;  I  don't  want  nothin'  from  you,  an'  I 
don't  propose  t'  give  nothin'  to  you." 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         169 

It  was  so  coarse,  so  brutal,  so  untrue,  that  the  girl  met 
him  once  in  his  life  as  he  deserved. 

"Keep  your  cows,"  she  said  in  the  low  tones  of  concen- 
trated bitterness.  "I  don't  want  them,  nor  money  from 
you.  I  don't  owe  you  anything,  either.  I've  done  more 
work  and  furnished  you  more  money  than  ever  I  cost  you 
since  the  day  I  was  born.  I  knew  no  one  could  explain 
anything  to  you.  I  told  ma  so,  but  she's  afraid  for  her 
life  of  you,  and  insisted.  I've  tried  to  keep  the  peace  with 
you,  really,  but  no  one  ever  has  or  ever  will  be  able  to  do 
that.  I'll  let  you  alone  after  this." 

"You  damned  huzzy!"  the  now  thoroughly  aroused 
man  exclaimed,  lunging  forward  to  strike  her  with  his  open 
hand.  He  had  only  listened  to  her  so  far  because  there 
had  been  something  so  compelling  in  the  rush  of  her  words 
that  he  had  been  stupefied  by  astonishment  into  doing  so. 

Patsie,  who  was  in  line  with  the  blow,  reared  and  threw 
herself  against  her  mate,  knowing  what  that  tone  of  her 
master's  voice  indicated,  and  his  hands  were  so  occupied 
for  a  few  seconds  in  quieting  the  team  that  he  could  not 
follow  his  daughter  and  administer  the  chastisement  he 
wished. 

"I'll  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life!"  he  cried, 
however,  when  he  saw  her  disappearing  through  the  open 
door  of  the  house. 

"Now, what  have  you  done?"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  demanded 
when  the  breathless  girl  pushed  rapidly  past  her  at  the 
inner  door  and  faced  about  defiantly  in  the  middle  of  the 
kitchen. 


170         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  another  word  about  it,  ever.  I've 
done  it  about  as  bad  as  I  could,  I  guess,  but  I'll  never  take 
another  whipping  from  him,  and  you  needn't  expect  it." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  the  way  it  sounded,"  she  moaned  after 
the  family  had  gone,  referring  to  the  figurative  speech, 
"  She's  afraid  for  her  life  of  you."  That  had  been  meant 
in  a  very  different  sense.  The  girl  would  have  given  much 
to  have  unsaid  it,  to  have  given  any  sort  of  explanation. 

It  was  not  possible  to  explain  anything  to  Josiah  Farn- 
shaw,  and  remembering  the  threat  to  flog  her  as  soon  as 
he  returned  from  meeting,  Elizabeth  began  to  put  up  her 
hair  and  prepare  for  the  departure  which  was  her  only  way 
of  escape.  Josiah  Farnshaw  never  forgot  a  promise  of 
that  sort. 

"I'll  go  to  Aunt  Susan's,"  she  resolved,  and  as  soon  as 
she  could  get  her  dress  changed  and  a  few  things  thrown 
quickly  into  the  trunk  which  she  had  partially  unpacked 
the  day  before,  Elizabeth  took  her  parasol  and  started 
toward  the  south.  John  lived  in  that  direction  also,  and 
would  be  on  his  way  to  see  her,  for  his  mother  had  asked 
Elizabeth  to  spend  the  day  with  her.  She  would  ask  John 
to  come  for  her  trunk  and  then  have  him  take  her  to  Susan 
Hornby's  house.  Aunt  Susan  would  welcome  her  with 
open  arms.  She  was  covered  with  perspiration  when  she 
•met  her  lover,  who  was  hot  and  uncomfortable  also,  and 
had  been  cursing  every  mile  of  the  shadeless  Kansas  road. 
John's  relief  was  so  great  at  meeting  her  a  couple  of  miles 
on  the  way  that  he  did  not  inquire  why  she  was  there  at 
that  hour  till  she  was  seated  beside  him. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         171 

"But  your  father  can't  do  anything  to  you,"  he  objected 
when  she  had  outlined  her  plan  of  going  to  Aunt  Susan's 
to  stay  till  the  wedding.  "Everybody  knows  that  you 
have  left  there  and  you'll  have  to  explain  things  and  get 
into  a  scandal." 

Without  going  into  details,  Elizabeth  insisted  that  he 
drive  on  at  once  and  get  her  trunk  before  her  father  and 
the  family  should  get  home  from  church. 

John  Hunter  argued  the  matter. 

"If  you  leave  home,"  he  said  slowly,  refusing  to 
drive  on,  "people  will  talk,  and  it  isn't  to  be  considered." 

There  was  a  pause.  Should  she  explain  the  case  fully? 
It  could  not  be  done.  John  could  not  be  made  to 
understand.  Elizabeth  knew  that  even  in  the  primi- 
tive community  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up 
a  man  would  be  filled  with  disgust  at  the  idea  of 
striking  a  full-grown  woman  on  any  sort  of  provoca- 
tion, and  that  a  man  reared  as  John  Hunter  had  been 
reared  would  be  alienated  not  only  from  her  family  but 
from  her. 

Caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  let  her 
future  husband  study  her  curiously,  while  she  deliberated 
and  cast  about  for  some  means  of  getting  his  approval  to 
her  scheme  without  villifying  her  parents  by  telling  the 
whole  truth. 

"I'll  be  nearer  you,  and  Aunt  Susan's  always  glad  to 
have  me,"  she  said  coaxingly. 

It  was  a  good  bit  of  argument  to  put  forth  at  that 
moment.  The  sun  poured  his  heat  out  upon  them  in 


172         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

scalding  fierceness,  and  John  Hunter  had  cursed  his  luck 
every  mile  he  had  covered  that  morning.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  reach  her  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  the  sug- 
gestion that  she  go  back  to  the  old  place  began  to  look 
more  reasonable,  yet  he  hesitated  and  was  reluctant  to 
let  a  breath  of  gossip  touch  his  future  wife.  Whether 
Elizabeth  were  right  or  wrong  did  not  enter  into  his 
calculations. 

It  looked  as  if  his  consent  was  not  to  be  obtained.  She 
could  not  go  back. 

"I'm  not  going  home,  and  that  is  all  that  there  is  about 
it,"  the  girl  announced  in  desperation. 

John  still  hung  back. 

When  he  did  not  reply  and  it  became  necessary  for  her 
to  go  into  the  details  she  had  been  trying  to  avoid,  it  was 
done  reluctantly  and  with  as  little  emphasis  put  upon  the 
possibility  of  physical  chastisement  as  could  be  done  and 
convince  him  at  all.  To  Elizabeth's  surprise  John  did 
not  take  much  notice  of  that  element.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  at  that  time  that  it  was  a  strange  thing  that  her  lover 
should  fail  to  be  stirred  by  the  probability  of  her  receiv- 
ing a  blow.  Elizabeth  had  never  had  consideration 
shown  her  by  any  one  but  Susan  Hornby  and  had  not 
yet  learned  to  expect  it.  John  struck  the  horses 
with  the  dangling  lines  he  held  and  drove  on  toward 
the  waiting  trunk.  She  watched  him  as  he  rode  by 
her  side  moodily  thinking  of  the  gossip,  threatened,  and 
while  it  was  not  the  mood  she  wished  him  to  enter- 
tain, it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  it  was  anything  but  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         173 

natural  one.     They  rode  without  speaking  until  the  house 
was  reached. 

"This  '11  have  to  be  explained  to  mother,"  he  remarked 
discontentedly  as  he  shoved  the  unoffending  trunk  into 
the  back  of  the  wagon.  Elizabeth  made  no  reply.  She 
had  been  thinking  of  that  very  thing. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CYCLONES 

SUSAN  HORNBY  asked  no  questions  when  Eliza- 
beth and  John  presented  themselves  at  her  door. 
Their  embarrassed  faces  warned  her.  She  gathered 
Elizabeth  into  her  arms  for  a  brief  hug,  and  then  pushed 
her  toward  the  inside  of  the  house,  remaining  behind  to 
show  John  where  to  put  the  trunk.  When  it  had  been  set 
beside  the  kitchen  door  she  dismissed  him  by  saying: 

"  I  won't  ask  you  to  stay  for  a  bite  of  dinner,  since  your 
mother  is  alone,  Mr.  Hunter." 

"Well  —  er  —  that  is  —  mother  expected  Elizabeth 
over  there,"  John  stammered,  looking  toward  the  front 
room. 

"Tell  your  mother  Elizabeth  will  stay  right  here  till 
she  has  rested  up  from  that  headache,"  the  woman  replied 
with  the  tone  of  having  settled  the  matter. 

Elizabeth,  in  the  other  room,  noted  that  he  did  not 
argue  about  it  and  heard  him  drive  away  with  mixed  feel- 
ings. When  at  last  Aunt  Susan's  questions  were  answered 
the  girl  in  turn  became  questioner. 

"Will  she  think  —  John's  mother  —  that  we're  coarse 
and  common?"  she  asked  when  she  had  told  as  much  as 
she  could  bring  herself  to  tell  of  the  morning's  altercation. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         175 

The  look  on  the  older  woman's  face  was  not  a  hopeful 
one,  and  the  girl  got  up  restlessly  from  the  trunk-top  where 
she  had  dropped  beside  her.  She  remembered  the  fear, 
half  expressed,  on  the  schoolhouse  steps  two  days  before 
and  drew  within  herself,  sick  with  life. 

"Can  I  put  my  trunk  away?"  she  asked,  to  break  the 
awkward  silence  she  felt  coming. 

"Yes,"  was  the  relieved  answer,  and  each  took  a  handle, 
carrying  the  light  piece  of  baggage  to  the  bedroom.  At 
the  door  Elizabeth  stopped  short.  A  strange  coat  and 
vest  were  spread  carelessly  over  the  bed,  and  a  razor  strop 
lay  across  the  back  of  the  little  rocking  chair. 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  Susan  Hornby  exclaimed,  sweeping 
the  offending  male  attire  into  her  apron.  "A  young  fel- 
low stopped  last  night  and  asked  to  stay  till  he  could  get 
a  house  built  on  that  land  west  of  Hunter's.  You're  going 
to  have  a  bachelor  for  a  neighbour." 

"Who?"  Elizabeth  asked,  and  then  added,  "What 
will  he  do  for  a  room  if  I  take  this  one?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Aunt  Susan  replied  to  the  last  clause 
of  the  question.  "The  room  is  yours,  anyhow.  I'm  so 
glad  to  have  you  back  that  I'd  turn  him  out  if  need  be. 
Honestly,  we  could  hardly  eat  Saturday.  Nate  was  as 
bad  as  I  was.  They've  gone  to  Colebyville  together  to- 
day. I'm  glad  Nate's  got  him  —  he's  lonesome  enough 
these  days." 

It  was  Elizabeth's  turn  to  cheer  up  Aunt  Susan,  for  she 
always  fell  into  a  gloom  when  she  mentioned  Nathan.  It 
took  Elizabeth's  mind  from  her  own  affairs,  and  by  the 


176         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

time  the  unpacking  was  finished  the  volatile  spirits  of 
youth  had  asserted  themselves.  They  took  a  walk 
toward  evening,  and  only  returned  in  time  to  meet  John 
Hunter,  who  had  come  to  see  his  betrothed  about  a  trip 
he  had  decided  suddenly  to  take  to  Mitchell  County.  He 
had  spoken  of  it  to  Elizabeth  before,  and  had  only  waited 
to  get  his  mother  established  and  a  desirable  hired  man 
to  run  the  place  in  his  absence.  The  man  had  come  that 
day  asking  for  work  and  giving  good  references  and 
John  had  decided  to  go  at  once. 

In  the  excitement  of  preparation  John  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  the  discomforts  of  the  morning,  and  though  he 
soon  took  his  departure,  he  left  Elizabeth  less  unhappy 
than  she  had  been.  Nathan  and  the  new  man  were  com- 
ing in  the  distance  as  John  Hunter  drove  away,  and  the 
girl  turned  back  into  the  kitchen  to  help  with  the  supper. 

"Lizzie  Farnshaw!  And  you  are  the  Elizabeth  these 
folk  have  been  talkin'  about?  Well,  I'll  be  horn- 
swoggled!" 

Nathan  and   the  new  boarder  had  just  come  in. 

"Is  it  really  you,  Luther?"  Elizabeth  asked,  and  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  glad  tones. 

They  looked  each  other  over  for  changes;  they  sat 
beside  each  other  at  the  table,  and  Elizabeth  asked 
questions  and  talked  excitedly  while  he  ate. 

"Your  hair  is  darker,  and  it's  curly,"  she  remarked, 
remembering  the  tow-coloured  locks  cut  square  across  the 
boyish,  sunburned  neck. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         177 

Luther  Hansen's  face  crinkled  into  fine  lines  and  his 
blue-gray  eyes  laughed  amusedly. 

"Got  darker  as  I  got  older,  Lizzie,  an'  th'  typhoid  put 
them  girl-twists  into  th'  ends  of  it.  Bet  you're  a  wishin' 
for  it  —  all  th'  women  folks  do.  Wish  you  had  it." 

They  went  for  a  walk  after  supper  and  talked  of  many 
things.  He  was  the  same  Luther,  grown  older  and  even 
more  companionable.  Elizabeth  learned  that  both  his 
parents  had  died,  leaving  the  then  seventeen-year-old 
boy  a  piece  of  land  heavily  mortgaged,  and  with  nothing 
but  a  broken  down  team  and  a  superannuated  cow  to 
raise  the  debt.  By  constant  labour  and  self-denial  the 
boy  had  lifted  the  financial  load,  and  then  happening  to 
meet  a  man  who  owned  this  Kansas  land  had  traded,  with 
the  hope  that  on  the  cheaper  land  he  could  reach  out  faster 
and  get  a  good  increase  on  the  original  price  besides. 

"I  remembered  th'  kind  of  land  it  was  about  here,  an' 
didn't  need  t'  come  an'  see  it  first,"  he  said.  "I  was  goin' 
t'  hunt  you  up  'fore  long,  anyhow.  I  never  thought  of 
these  folks  a  knowin'  you,  though,  after  I  got  here.  Funny, 
ain't  it?  I'm  right  glad  t'  be  back  t'  you,"  was  his  frank 
confession. 

And  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  looked  up  happily  into  his 
face,  meeting  his  eye  squarely  and  without  embarrassment. 
It  was  as  natural  to  have  Luther,  and  to  have  him  say 
that  he  wanted  to  see  her,  as  it  would  have  been  to  listen 
to  the  announcement  from  her  brother. 

"I'm  so  glad,"  she  replied,  "and  I've  so  much  to  tell 
you  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin." 


178         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Luther  laughed. 

"Mrs.  Hornby  thought  I'd  be  put  out  about  that  room, 
but  I  told  'er  nothin'  like  that'd  bother  me  if  it  brought 
you  t'  th'  house.  I've  been  sleepin'  under  th'  wagon  all 
th'  way  down  from  Minnesoty  an'  I  can  go  right  on  doin' 
it." 

They  did  not  go  far,  but  wandered  back  and  sat  on 
Nathan's  unpainted  doorstep  while  the  stars  came  out, 
and  Elizabeth  forgot  all  about  the  trials  of  the  morning, 
and  told  him  of  her  engagement  to  John  Hunter. 

"  I'm  going  to  live  right  next  to  your  farm,  Luther,  and 

you  must " 

Elizabeth  Farnshaw  had  started  to  say  that  he  must 
know  John,  and  somehow  the  words  got  suddenly  tangled 
in  her  throat,  and  the  sentence  was  unfinished  for  the  frac- 
tion of  a  moment  and  then  ended  differently  from  what 
she  had  intended:  "And  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  have  you 
for  a  neighbour,  and  you'll  marry  —  now  who  will  you 
marry?" 

Luther,  who  had  begun  to  like  this  new  Elizabeth  even 
better  than  the  girl  of  six  years  ago,  had  his  little  turn  in 
the  dark  shadow  of  Nathan's  overhanging  roof  at  the 
mention  of  this  love  affair,  but  he  swallowed  the  bitter  pill 
like  a  man.  The  renewed  acquaintance  had  been  begun 
on  friendly  lines  and  through  all  the  days  which  followed 
it  was  kept  rigidly  on  that  ground.  He  was  glad  to  have 
been  told  frankly  and  at  once  of  John  Hunter's  claims. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Elizabeth  had  stumbled  and 
found  herself  unable  to  suggest  that  John  and  Luther  were 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         179 

to  be  friends,  she  talked  to  Luther  of  her  plans,  her  hopes 
of  becoming  a  good  housekeeper,  her  efforts  at  cooking, 
and  of  the  sewing  she  was  engaged  upon.  He  learned,  in 
time,  of  the  disagreements  with  her  father,  and  was  not 
surprised,  and  with  him  she  took  up  the  subject  of  the 
marital  relations  at  home.  Luther's  experience  was  more 
limited  than  Susan  Hornby's,  but  he  looked  the  matter  of 
personal  relations  squarely  in  the  face  and  discussed  them 
without  reserve.  There  was  always  something  left  to  be 
finished  between  them,  and  night  after  night  they  walked 
or  sat  together  on  the  doorstep  till  late.  Nathan  looked 
on  disapprovingly,  not  understanding  the  bond  between 
them,  but  Susan,  who  heard  the  girl  chatting  happily 
about  her  coming  marriage,  saw  that  the  friendship  was 
on  safe  ground  and  laughed  away  his  fears. 

Nathan  had  found  his  first  friend  since  his  Topeka  ex- 
perience, and  was  unwilling  to  see  him  come  to  harm;  also, 
while  Nathan  had  come  to  love  Elizabeth  almost  as  much 
as  his  own  daughter,  and  to  miss  her  when  she  was  away, 
he  was  uncomfortably  aware  that  she  prized  a  culture 
which  he  did  not  possess,  and  was  subject  to  fits  of  jeal- 
ousy and  distrust  because  of  it. 

Days  passed.  Elizabeth  could  not  induce  herself  to 
call  on  her  future  mother-in-law.  The  surety  that  she 
was  cheapened  by  reports  of  her  home  affairs  stung  her 
consciousness  and  made  it  impossible  to  make  the  call 
which  she  knew  she  would  certainly  give  offence  by  omit- 
ting. This,  too,  she  talked  over  with  Luther,  and  he 
advised  her  to  go  at  once.  Each  day  she  would  promise, 


180         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

and  each  day  she  would  make  excuses  to  herself  and  him, 
till  at  last  the  man's  sober  sense  told  him  it  must  not  be 
put  off  longer. 

One  evening,  after  John  had  been  gone  two  weeks,  and 
Elizabeth  explained  the  fact  of  not  having  gone  to  see  Mrs. 
Hunter  because  of  the  extreme  heat,  Luther  suggested 
that  she  go  over  to  the  "shanty"  with  him. 

"I  forgot  my  coat,  and  it  looks  as  if  it'd  rain  'fore 
mornin',"  he  remarked.  "I  kept  th'  harness  on  th' 
horses,  so's  t'  drive  over." 

As  Elizabeth  expected,  the  visit  to  Mrs.  Hunter  was  the 
first  subject  broached  after  they  started. 

"You're  goin'  t'  live  in  th'  house  with  Mrs.  Hunter, 
Lizzie"  -  Luther  always  used  the  old-fashioned  name  — 
"an'  you  must  be  friends  with  'er,"  he  cautioned. 

"I  know  it,  Luther.  I'll  go  to-morrow,  sure,  no  matter 
what  happens,"  the  girl  promised,  her  words  coming  so 
slowly  that  there  was  no  mistaking  her  reluctance.  "I 
just  can't  bear  to,  but  I  will." 

Luther  considered  at  some  length. 

"She'll  be  lonesome,  not  knowin'  anybody  here,"  he 
said  with  almost  equal  reluctance.  "I  —  I  want  t'  see 
you  start  in  right.  You've  got  t'  live  in  th'  house  with 
'er." 

The  last  clause  of  his  argument  was  not  exactly  in  line 
with  the  impression  he  wished  to  produce;  in  fact,  it  was 
only  a  weak  repetition  of  what  he  had  begun  the  argument 
with,  but  somehow,  like  Elizabeth,  that  was  the  main  fact 
in  the  case  which  absorbed  his  attention.  He  was  dis- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         181 

satisfied  with  it,  but  could  think  of  no  way  to  state  it 
better;  so  to  turn  the  subject  to  something  foreign  to  the 
hated  topic,  he  remarked  on  a  hayfield  they  were  passing. 

"Them  windrows  ought  t'  'a'  been  shocked  up,"  he  said, 
casting  his  eye  up  at  the  northwest  to  measure  the  clouds. 
"Jimminy!"  he  exclaimed,  slapping  the  team  with  the 
lines.  "I  wonder  if  I've  brought  you  out  here  t'  get  you 
wet?" 

He  glanced  apprehensively  at  Elizabeth's  thin  print 
dress  as  the  startled  team  jerked  the  old  lumber  wagon 
over  the  rough  road,  and  half  wished  he  had  not  brought 
her  with  him,  for  the  signs  were  ominous.  The  breeze, 
which  had  been  fitful  when  they  had  started,  had  died 
away  altogether.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring;  even 
the  birds  and  crickets  were  silent. 

The  storm  was  gathering  rapidly. 

They  rounded  the  corner,  near  his  building  place,  on  a 
full  trot,  and  plunged  into  the  grove  of  cottonwoods  which 
surrounded  the  "shanty,"  with  a  consciousness  that  if 
they  were  to  avoid  a  wetting,  haste  was  necessary. 

The  faded  coat,  which  was  the  object  of  the  journey, 
hung  on  the  handle  of  the  windlass  at  the  newly  sunk  well. 
The  dried  lumps  of  blue  clay  heaped  themselves  about  the 
new  pine  curb  and  the  young  man  stumbled  awkwardly 
over  the  sunbaked  clods  as  he  reached  for  his  coat.  As 
he  turned  back  toward  the  wagon  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
may escaped  him.  The  storm  had  gathered  so  rapidly 
that  the  boiling  clouds  could  be  plainly  seen  now  above 
the  tops  of  the  ragged  trees  which  surrounded  the  place. 


182         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Instead  of  waiting  to  put  the  coat  on,  Luther  flung  it  into 
the  back  of  the  wagon,  and,  climbing  hastily  over  the  hub, 
turned  the  horses  and  drove  them  into  the  open  road. 
One  glance  after  they  were  free  from  the  grove  was 
enough.  With  a  shout,  he  stood  up,  urging  the  horses  into 
a  gallop. 

Boiling  like  smoke  from  the  stack  of  a  rapidly  moving 
locomotive,  the  storm  bore  down  upon  the  level  Kansas 
prairie.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  except  a  dull  roar  from 
the  north.  Urging  the  horses  to  their  utmost  efforts  with 
voice  and  threatening  gestures,  Luther  looked  back  at  the 
girl  on  the  spring  seat  reassuringly. 

"We're  makin'  good  time,  Lizzie,"  he  shouted,  "but 
I'm  afraid  you'll  get  th'  starch  took  out  of  that  purty 
dress.  I  never  thought  of  this  when  I  brought  you." 

Elizabeth,  clinging  to  the  backless  spring  seat  with  both 
hands,  smiled  back  at  him.  It  was  only  a  storm,  and  at 
best  could  only  soak  their  clothes  and  hair;  but  to  Luther 
more  than  that  was  indicated. 

As  they  rounded  the  corner  and  turned  toward  the 
north,  a  sudden  puff  of  wind  jerked  the  shapeless  straw 
hat  from  Luther's  head  and  sent  it  careening  dizzily  over 
the  stubs  of  the  hayfield  at  the  right.  Hats  cost  money, 
and  Luther  pulled  up  the  galloping  horses.  Hardly  wait- 
ing to  see  whether  Elizabeth  caught  the  lines  he  flung  to 
her,  he  sprang  to  the  ground  and  gave  chase.  The  hat 
rolled  flat  side  down  against  a  windrow  and  stuck,  so  that 
it  looked  as  if  it  were  to  be  captured,  but  before  he  reached 
it  the  wind,  which  had  now  become  a  steady  blow,  caught 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         183 

it,  and  as  the  only  loose  thing  of  its  size  to  be  found,  played 
tag  with  its  owner.  At  last  he  turned  back,  gasping  for 
breath  and  unable  to  lift  his  head  against  the  blast. 

A  fleeting  glimpse  of  Elizabeth  standing  up  in  the  wagon 
was  all  that  he  got,  for  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning  split  the 
sky  from  north  to  south,  followed  by  a  terrific  crash  of 
thunder.  Half  stunned,  he  fell  into  the  deep  rut  of  an  old 
road  crossing  the  hayfield  at  right  angles  to  his  course. 

As  he  arose  a  moment  later,  a  scene  never  to  be  for- 
gotten met  his  gaze.  One  of  his  horses  lay  motionless  on 
the  ground,  the  other  was  struggling  feebly  to  regain  its 
feet,  and  Elizabeth  was  scrambling  wildly  out  of  the  wagon. 
Rushing  to  her  side,  Luther  drew  her  away  from  the 
floundering  horse.  A  gust  of  rain  struck  them. 

"Can  you  hold  his  head,"  Luther  shouted  in  her  car, 
"while  I  get  him  out  of  the  harness?" 

Elizabeth  nodded,  and  together  they  caught  the  bit 
and  laid  the  beast's  head  flat  on  the  ground,  where  the 
girl  held  it  fast  by  main  force  while  Luther  worked  at  the 
straps  and  buckles. 

"At  last!"  he  cried,  when  the  name-strap  gave  way 
under  his  fingers.  He  flung  the  neck-yoke  over  against 
the  body  of  the  dead  horse,  and  stepped  back  to  free  him- 
self from  the  dangling  lines. 

Elizabeth  let  the  horse's  head  loose  and  jumped  back, 
still  holding  to  the  halter-strap.  The  frightened  animal 
bounded  to  its  feet  with  a  neigh  of  alarm,  dragging  the 
girl  out  of  Luther's  reach  just  as  a  thunderous  roar  and 
utter  darkness  enveloped  them. 


j  84    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

What  happened,  exactly,  the  man  never  knew.  He 
picked  himself  up,  half  senseless,  some  minutes  later, 
covered  with  mud,  and  his  clothing  half  torn  from  his 
body.  At  first  he  could  not  recall  where  he  was;  then 
seeing  the  dead  horse  in  the  road,  and  the  upturned  bed 
of  the  wagon  itself,  he  realized  that  they  had  been  struck 
by  a  cyclone. 

The  darkness  had  whirled  away  with  the  retreating 
tornado,  and  a  gray  light  showed  the  demoralized  wagon 
overturned  by  the  roadside.  The  wagon  was  in  painful 
evidence,  but  Elizabeth?  Where  was  Elizabeth?  Look- 
ing wildly  about  in  all  directions,  Luther  called  her  name: 

"Lizzie!  Lizzie!  God  in  heaven!  What  has  become 
of  you?" 

He  remembered  the  fate  of  a  girl  in  Marshall  County 
which  he  had  heard  discussed  only  last  week.  That  child 
had  been  picked  up  by  one  of  these  whirling  devils  and  her 
neck  broken  against  a  tree! 

With  a  wild  cry,  he  turned  and  ran  in  the  direction  of 
the  receding  storm,  calling  her  name  and  looking  franti- 
cally on  both  sides  of  the  path  where  the  cyclone  had  licked 
the  ground  as  clean  as  a  swept  floor.  He  could  see  nothing 
at  all  of  Elizabeth.  Realizing  at  last  that  he  was  wasting 
his  efforts,  and  that  some  degree  of  composure  would 
assist  in  the  search,  Luther  stopped  and  looked  about  him. 

Outside  the  immediate  path  of  the  cyclone,  which  was 
cleared  of  every  movable  thing,  the  hay  was  tossed  and 
thrown  about  as  if  it  had  been  forked  over  the  ground  to 
dry  itself  from  the  wetting  it  had  had.  Hay  everywhere, 


"  LOOKING   WILDLY   ABOUT   IN   ALL   DIRECTIONS,    LUTHER  CALLED   HER  NAME ' 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         185 

but  no  living  thing  to  be  seen.  Could  it  be  that  Elizabeth 
had  been  carried  completely  away  by  the  storm,  or  was  she 
buried  in  the  hay  somewhere? 

Unresponsive  as  all  nature  to  human  emotions,  the 
tumbled  grass  lay  about  him,  a  picture  of  confusion  and 
ruin.  The  futility  of  human  effort  was  borne  in  upon 
him  as  he  scanned  the  waste.  A  pile  larger  than  the  sur- 
rounding piles  separated  itself  from  the  scattered  heaps  at 
last.  He  regarded  it  eagerly.  Yes!  there  was  a  flutter  of 
wet  calico. 

Half  rejoicing,  half  terrified  at  the  prospect  of  what  he 
might  find,  Luther  Hansen  ran  and  flung  himself  down  on 
his  knees  beside  it,  dragging  at  the  half-buried  form  of  the 
girl  in  frantic  haste.  She  was  doubled  together  and  mixed 
with  the  hay  as  if,  after  being  picked  up  with  it,  she  had 
been  whirled  with  it  many  times  and  then  contemptuously 
flung  aside. 

Drawing  her  out,  Luther  gathered  her  into  his  arms  and 
listened  to  her  heart  beat  to  make  certain  that  she  still 
lived. 

Though  limp  and  unconscious,  Elizabeth  Farnshaw  was 
alive,  and  Luther  drew  her  up  and  leaned  her  loosely  roll- 
ing head  on  his  shoulder  while  he  considered  what  to  do. 

A  sharp,  peppering  fall  of  hail  struck  them.  Luther 
looked  about  quickly  for  shelter.  The  Kansas  prairie 
stretched  level  and  bare  before  him.  Not  even  a  bush 
presented  itself.  The  size  of  the  hailstones  increased. 

Elizabeth  began  to  show  signs  of  returning  conscious- 
ness and  to  move  feeblv. 


1 86        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  hailstones  came  down  like  a  very  avalanche  of  ice. 
It  became  necessary  to  interpose  his  body  between  her  and 
the  storm.  He  thought  of  the  coat  they  had  come  to  ob- 
tain, but  that  had  probably  gone  with  the  hat  and  the 
hay  and  all  other  things  in  the  route  of  the  hurricane.  He 
stooped  close  over  her  quivering  form  and  let  the  frozen 
pellets  fall  on  his  unprotected  head.  The  deluge  was 
mercifully  short,  but  at  the  end  Luther  Hansen  was  almost 
beaten  into  insensibility. 

When  the  hailstorm  was  over  the  rain  burst  upon  them 
with  renewed  fury,  and  the  wind  blew  as  cold  as  a  winter's 
gale.  The  chill  stung  them  into  activity.  Luther  got 
slowly  to  his  feet,  bracing  himself  against  the  blast  as  he 
did  so,  and  also  pulled  up  the  now  conscious  girl.  Eliza- 
beth's strength  had  not  returned  and  she  fell  back,  drag- 
ging him  to  his  knees  at  her  side.  The  rain  ran  off  her 
hair  and  clothes  in  streams,  and  against  the  storm  her 
thin  cotton  dress  was  of  no  protection  whatever.  Luther 
urged  her  to  control  her  shaking  limbs  and  try  to  walk. 
It  could  only  be  accomplished  by  much  effort.  When  at 
last  she  staggered  to  her  feet,  he  put  his  arm  about  her 
and  with  bent  head  turned  to  face  the  rain,  which  cut  like 
switches  at  their  faces  and  cold  shoulders,  to  which  the 
wet  cotton  garments  clung  like  part  of  the  very  skin  itself. 

The  wind  blew  a  gale.  It  was  almost  impossible  to 
make  headway  against  it.  Had  it  not  been  for  Elizabeth's 
chilled  state  Luther  would  have  slipped  down  in  a  wagon 
rut  and  waited  for  the  squall  to  subside,  but  it  was  essential 
that  the  girl  be  got  under  shelter  of  some  sort.  At  length. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         187 

after  struggling  and  buffeting  with  the  storm  for  what 
seemed  an  age,  alternately  resting  and  then  battling  up 
the  road  toward  home,  they  turned  the  corner  of  the 
section  from  which  the  Hornby  house  could  be  seen. 

Suddenly,  Elizabeth  gave  a  frightened  scream.  Luther, 
whose  head  had  been  bowed  against  the  wind,  looked  up 
with  a  start. 

"Good  God!"  broke  from  his  lips. 

Only  a  twisted  pile  of  debris  was  to  be  seen  where  that 
house  had  stood. 

With  the  impulse  to  reach  it  instantly,  they  started  on  a 
run,  hand  in  hand,  but  the  fierceness  of  the  gale  prevented 
them.  Out  of  breath  before  they  had  gone  a  dozen  yards, 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  stop  and  recover  breath  and 
start  again  at  a  pace  more  in  keeping  with  their  powers. 
Impatient  and  horrified,  they  struggled  ahead,  running  at 
times,  stumbling,  falling,  but  not  giving  up.  Terrified  by 
the  thought  of  they  knew  not  what  possible  disaster  ahead 
of  them,  they  at  last  turned  into  the  little  path  leading  to 
the  ruined  house. 

Picking  their  way  over  scattered  bits  of  household  be- 
longings, broken  boards  and  shingles,  for  some  distance, 
they  at  last  reached  the  main  pile  of  timbers.  The  girl's 
heart  sank  at  the  thought  of  what  they  might  fird  there, 
and  she  made  a  gesture  of  distress. 

"This  is  no  place  for  you,  Lizzie,"  Luther  said,  quick 
to  comprehend,  and  sick  with  pity  for  her. 

As  he  spoke,  his  foot  sank  between  some  timbers  into  a 
pile  of  wet  cloth,  and  thinking  that  it  was  a  human 


1 88         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

form,  he  shuddered  and  fell  forward  to  avoid  giving  an  in- 
jury tne  nature  of  which  he  could  only  guess. 

They  dug  frantically  at  the  pile,  and  were  relieved  to 
find  that  it  was  only  a  ragged  knot  of  rain-soaked  carpet. 
It  indicated,  however,  the  possibilities  of  the  moment,  and 
Luther  ceased  to  urge  the  now  frenzied  girl  to  leave  him, 
and  together  they  stumbled  about  in  their  search.  Dark- 
ness was  falling  rapidly,  and  they  called  first  the  name  of 
Nathan,  and  then  of  his  wife,  beside  themselves  because 
they  could  not  find  even  a  trace  of  either  to  indicate  their 
fate.  Had  the  storm  picked  them  up  as  it  had  done  Eliza- 
beth and  carried  them  out  of  the  wreckage? 

Luther  stopped  and  shouted  the  thought  into  Elizabeth's 
ear.  The  wind  dropped  for  an  instant,  and  they  stood 
looking  about  the  place  as  well  as  the  gloom  would  permit. 
The  rain  fell  less  noisily  also.  All  at  once  they  heard  their 
names  called  from  somewhere  toward  the  north.  Turn- 
ing, they  saw,  what  they  had  not  noticed  before,  that  the 
straw  sheds  and  the  granary  were  untouched  by  the  tor- 
nado. 

"Here,  Luther!  Here,  Lizzie!"  came  another  call  from 
the  granary  door. 

Nathan  Hornby,  faintly  seen,  was  shouting  to  them  at 
the  top  of  his  voice.  A  new  dash  of  rain  came,  and  the 
wind  redoubled  its  fury  as  if  vexed  with  itself  for  having 
carelessly  let  the  wayfarers  get  a  glimpse  of  the  harbour 
where  it  would  be  unable  to  do  them  further  harm.  With 
a  glad  cry,  they  ran  toward  the  beckoning  figure,  and  a 
second  later  Elizabeth  was  lifted  by  Nathan  and  Luther 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        189 

into  the  open  door  of  the  bin-room,  and  literally  fell  across 
the  shifting  grain  into  Aunt  Susan's  open  arms,  sobbing 
and  clinging  to  her  as  if  fearing  that  the  fierce  winds  would 
snatch  her  away.  The  relief  was  almost  too  much  for  the 
girl. 

"Aunt  Susan!  Aunt  Susan!  How  could  I  live  without 
you?"  she  sobbed. 

Susan  Hornby  drew  the  horse  blanket  with  which  she 
was  covered  over  the  shuddering  child  in  her  arms,  and 
patted  and  soothed  her,  crying  softly  for  joy  as  she  did  so, 
for  the  fears  of  the  last  hour  had  been  mutual.  The 
thought  of  her  darling  out  in  the  storm,  suffering  she  knew 
not  what,  had  unnerved  Susan  Hornby,  and  brought  home 
to  her  as  nothing  else  had  ever  done  a  realization  of  the 
precious  relation  between  them. 

"My  daughter!  My  daughter!  My  Katy'sown  self!" 
she  repeated  over  and  over. 

The  reaction  of  fright  and  cold  and  wet  brought  on  a 
chill  which  set  Elizabeth's  teeth  to  chattering  audibly. 
Aunt  Susan  was  beside  herself  with  worry.  Do  what  she 
would,  the  girl  could  not  control  herself.  They  rubbed 
and  worked  with  her  for  some  minutes.  Luther  was 
alarmed  and  blamed  himself  for  having  taken  her  out  in 
threatening  weather.  Elizabeth  insisted  that  no  harm 
had  come  to  her  except  a  wetting,  but  could  not  convince 
the  others  till  Nathan  had  a  bright  idea. 

"Here!  We'll  scoop  these  warm  oats  over  you.  They're 
as  warm  as  toast  —  havin'  th'  blazin'  sun  on  th'  roof  of  this 
place  all  day." 


190         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  two  men  were  alert  for  any  signs  of  the  old  build- 
ing toppling  over  under  the  terrific  pressure  of  the  wind, 
and  had  kept  pretty  close  to  the  door;  but  they  moved 
over  in  the  direction  of  the  two  women,  and  using  their 
hands  as  shovels  soon  had  them  well  covered  with  oats. 

"There  you  are,"  Nathan  shouted,  when  Susan  had 
begged  them  to  desist  because  of  the  dust  they  were  rais- 
ing. "We'll  set  you  folks  a  sproutin'  if  heat  an'  moisture's 
got  anything  t'  do  with  it,"  he  continued. 

He  pulled  some  grain  sacks  out  of  the  empty  wheat  bin 
and  advised  Luther  to  wrap  them  around  himself.  "I'm 
some  wet,  myself,"  he  announced,  "but  I've  got  warm 
ragin'  round  here  like  a  gopher.  Now  tell  us  how  you 
folks  come  t'  get  here  in  all  this  storm.  What'd  you  do 
with  th'  horses?" 

All  this  had  been  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  for  the 
wind  rattled  and  tore  at  the  old  building  with  the  noise  of 
a  cannonade,  as  if  determined  to  wreck  even  this  shelter. 
It  was  not  possible  to  see  one's  hand  in  the  darkness,  for 
when  the  door  had  been  pulled  shut  after  the  young  couple, 
the  last  ray  of  light  was  shut  out.  Besides,  night  had 
fallen  now,  and  the  darkness  outside  was  no  less  dense. 

Luther  told  in  as  few  words  as  possible  of  the  catas- 
trophe which  had  befallen  them  on  the  road. 

"Why,  Susan,"  Nathan  exclaimed,  "th'  same  twister 
struck  them  as  struck  us!  Now  don't  that  beat  you? 
Funny  th'  stables  didn't  go,  too.  That's  th'  way  with 
them  things  —  they  go  along  an'  mow  a  patch  a  rod  'r 
two  wide  as  clean  as  a  whistle,  an'  not  touch  a  thing  ten 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         191 

feet  away.  Lord  man!"  he  cried,  turning  toward  Luther 
in  the  dark  with  a  reminiscent  giggle,  "you  should  'a'  seen 
us.  Sue  saw  th'  storm  a-comin',  an'  she  run  out  t'  git  th' 
chickens  in,  an'  nothin'  'd  do  'er  when  she  see  th'  way  them 
clouds  was  a  actin'  but  I  must  come  in,  too.  We  didn't 
even  milk!  I  never  see  anything  come  on  like  it;  we 
didn't  hardly  have  time  t'  git  th'  winders  shut  till  we  could 
hear  it  roarin'!  Lord,  you  should  'a'  heard  it  come!  All 
at  onct  it  got  dark,  an'  th'  house  begun  t'  rock;  an'  then  it 
slid  along  on  th'  ground,  an'  then  it  lifted  clear  up  at  th' 
northeast  corner,  an'  we  slid  down  in  a  heap  on  th'  other 
side  along  o'  th'  cupboards  an'  th'  kitchen  table  an'  crocks 
we'd  set  out  for  th'  milk  we  didn't  get  into  'em,  an'  then 
th'  house  lit  over  on  th'  other  corner  an'  went  t'  pieces 
like  a  dry-goods  box.  That  kitchen  table  was  th'  savin' 
of  us!  I  don't  know  how  it  got  over  us,  but  there  it  was 
with  th'  safe  an'  water-bench  a  holdin'  th'  timbers  ofPn 
us."  Nathan  wound  up  his  story  in  a  lowered  tone,  and 
there  was  silence  for  a  moment  as  each  went  over  his  per- 
sonal experience  in  thought. 

"Gittin'  warm  there,  Elizabeth?"  he  asked  after  a  time. 

"A  little,"  the  girl  answered,  still  shivering,  but  with 
less  audible  chattering  of  her  teeth. 

"You'll  be  all  right  in  half  an  hour,"  Nathan  said 
with  a  relieved  sigh.  "I  think  we'll  put  a  little  more  of 
these  oats  over  you  for  good  luck,"  he  added. 

They  heaped  the  warm  grain  thick  about  her,  and  then, 
because  it  was  hard  to  converse  with  the  noise  of  the  roar- 
ing wind  outside,  gave  up  the  effort.  The  old  granary 


192         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

had  a  good  roof  and  did  not  leak;  they  grew  less  frightened, 
and  Elizabeth  grew  warm  in  Aunt  Susan's  arms  and  slept 
at  last.  The  rest  lay  long,  listening  to  the  angry  blast, 
counting  up  their  losses  and  planning  to  reconstruct  so  as 
to  fit  the  new  circumstances.  For  Luther  another  horse 
would  be  needed,  while  Nathan  would  have  to  build  a 
house  and  furnish  it  anew. 

After  the  wind  subsided  the  two  men  discussed  in  low 
tones  the  best  way  of  beginning  on  the  morrow,  and  it  was 
finally  decided  that  Luther  should  go  out  and  appeal  to 
the  neighbours  to  gather  together  and  assist  in  sorting 
and  saving  such  things  as  were  worth  it,  and  construct  out 
of  the  broken  timbers  a  habitation  which  would  shelter 
them  till  a  better  could  be  erected.  Fortunately,  Luther 
had  used  none  of  the  lumber  of  his  last  load,  and  but  little 
of  the  one  he  had  bought  before. 

It  was  almost  morning  before  they  fell  asleep,  and  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly  before  they  awoke.  As  they 
emerged  from  the  musty  oats  bin  into  the  fresh  air,  which 
had  been  purified  by  the  wind  and  rain  of  the  night  before, 
a  curious  sight  met  their  eyes. 

The  house  was  indeed  a  wreck!  Roof,  side-walls,  plas- 
ter, floor,  and  furniture  were  mixed  in  one  indistinguish- 
able mass.  The  kitchen  table  Nathan  had  mentioned 
stood  as  a  centre-pole  under  a  leaning  pile  of  boards  and 
splintered  scantlings,  and  had  evidently  done  much  to 
save  the  lives  of  its  owners  when  the  roof  fell.  One  end 
of  the  house  lay,  almost  uninjured,  on  the  grass,  the 
window  panes  unbroken  and  still  in  their  frames.  Other 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         193 

windows  had  been  hurled  from  the  walls  to  which  they 
belonged  and  ground  to  powder.  Half  the  roof  had  been 
deposited  between  the  road  and  the  rest  of  the  debris  as 
carefully  as  if  it  had  been  lifted  by  some  gigantic  machin- 
ery, and  was  unhurt,  while  the  other  side,  splintered  and 
riddled,  was  jumbled  together  with  joists,  siding,  and 
kitchen  chairs. 

They  spent  but  little  time  over  the  ruin  of  treasures, 
but  after  a  hurried  breakfast,  consisting  of  such  eggs  as 
they  could  find  about  the  haystacks,  and  coffee  —  rain- 
soaked,  but  still  coffee,  which  was  dug  out  of  a  stone  jar 
where  it  had  fallen  —  the  men  went  at  once  for  help. 

In  spite  of  bridges  washed  out,  and  many  hindrances, 
sympathetic  farmers  began  to  gather  within  two  hours 
after  Luther  had  started  out.  The  lumber  he  had  offered 
was  brought  and  many  willing  hands  began  the  erection  of 
the  simple  four-room  house  on  the  old  foundation.  The 
place  was  cleared,  furniture  carried  to  one  side,  while 
broken  timbers  were  carried  to  the  other  and  sorted,  nails 
drawn,  and  every  available  stick  laid  in  neat  piles  ready  for 
those  who  had  brought  saws  and  hammers  for  building. 

Susan  and  Elizabeth  sorted  the  soaked  and  muddy 
clothing,  carpets,  and  bedclothes,  and  Mrs.  Chamberlain 
and  other  neighbour  women,  around  a  great  out-of-door 
fire  near  the  well,  washed  and  spread  the  clothes  on  the 
grass  to  dry. 

As  if  by  magic,  a  house  arose  before  night  and,  minus 
doors  and  windows,  but  otherwise  ready  for  occupancy, 
offered  its  shelter  to  the  tired  but  grateful  family.  Broken 


i94        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

bedsteads  had  been  mended  and  put  in  place,  feather-beds 
had  been  dried  in  the  hot  sun,  straw  ticks  had  been  filled 
with  clean  hay;  broken  chairs  nailed  or  wired  together 
occupied  their  old  places;  the  kitchen  safe,  with  its  doors 
replaced  but  shutting  grudgingly,  was  in  its  old  corner, 
and  the  unplastered  house  had  a  look  of  homey  comfort 
in  spite  of  the  lack  of  some  of  its  usual  features. 

Luther,  who  was  a  sort  of  carpenter,  donated  his  ser- 
vices for  several  days,  and  except  for  patches  of  new 
weather-boarding  or  shingles  mixed  with  the  old  there  was 
little  to  indicate  the  path  of  a  cyclone  in  the  country. 
Yes,  there  was  a  pile  of  splintered  boards  tossed  roughly 
together  not  far  from  the  back  door,  and  the  usual  fuel 
of  corncobs  was  below  par. 


CHAPTER  IX 


AGAINST   HER    INSTINCTS,     AGAINST  HER   BETTER     JUDG- 


MENT, AGAINST  HER  WILL 


MRS.  HUNTER  did  not  come  to  help,  nor  to  call 
upon  Elizabeth  and  Susan  Hornby,  after  the 
disaster,  and  Elizabeth  was  finally  obliged  to 
go  to  see  John's  mother  without  any  encouragement  other 
than  Luther's  urging. 

The  day  came  at  last  when  the  call  had  to  be  made,  and 
for  the  first  time  Elizabeth  came  in  contact  with  polite 
society  which  smiles  and  bows  in  polite  form  without  any 
especial  regard  for  sincerity.  There  was  not  a  ripple  of 
discontent  on  the  surface  at  her  future  home.  Mrs. 
Hunter  might  never  have  heard  of  the  girl's  family  diffi- 
culties. The  girl  might  have  called  the  day  before,  so 
courteous  and  charming  was  the  dignified  hospitality  with 
which  she  was  accepted.  Elizabeth  felt  as  if  the  most 
painful  possibility  of  her  life  had  been  safely  put  behind 
her.  She  had  been  nervous  and  uncomfortable  about 
this  visit,  and  was  correspondingly  sensitive  to  the  perfect 
manner  of  her  hostess,  and  carried  away  with  her  a  new 
problem  to  work  upon:  if  John  Hunter's  mother,  by  her 
poise  and  presence,  made  of  his  home  a  social  unit  of  ap- 
pearance and  value,  John  Hunter's  wife  must  not  fall 

195 


196         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

below  the  grade  of  that  home  when  she  became  its  mis- 
tress. She  pondered  long  upon  that  subtle  air  of  good 
breeding  which  ignored  real  issues  and  smoothed  com- 
munication by  seeming  not  to  know  disagreeable  facts. 
Elizabeth  decided  that  it  was  much  more  desirable  than 
the  rugged  honesty  with  which  the  primitive  folk  about 
them  would  have  humiliated  themselves  by  explanation 
and  apology.  She  would  copy  that  suavity  of  manner. 
Also,  she  resolved  not  to  discuss  grievances.  They  were  a 
bore  and  it  was  horribly  countrified. 

"I  will  not  let  myself  think  any  more  about  it.  I  will 
be  myself,  and  not  be  affected  by  what  the  rest  of  the 
folks  do,  and  I'll  not  let  myself  sit  and  fumble  with  my 
buttons  because  some  one  else  is  going  to  think  about 
them.  Mrs.  Hunter's  manners  are  beautiful.  I'd  just 
love  her  if  I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  have  to  live  with 
her,"  she  thought.  Mrs.  Hunter  was  a  fixture  in  Eliza- 
beth's mental  world,  and  her  estimates  were  the  standards 
Elizabeth  considered  when  she  sewed  alone  or  when  Aunt 
Susan  was  silent.  The  girl  was  both  fascinated  and  re- 
pelled by  them.  Mrs.  Hunter's  bearing  was  the  subject 
of  constant  and  delighted  meditation,  while  the  cold  care- 
fulness of  it  was  a  terrorizing  nightmare.  The  girl  kept 
up  a  conversation  with  Aunt  Susan  on  the  sewing,  or  a 
fire  of  mirth  and  jollity  with  Nathan  or  Luther,  with  this 
undercurrent  of  thought  always  going  on.  How  was  she 
to  emulate  that  polish  with  so  little  experience  in  social 
affairs 5  she  would  ask  herself  one  moment,  and  the  next 
would  be  harassed  by  the  certainty  that  equal  perfection 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         197 

in  housekeeping  and  entertainment  would  be  expected  of 
her.  There  was  no  escaping  her  fate.  If  she  was  to  learn 
these  things,  she  must  learn  them  of  John's  mother.  There 
was  no  way  of  acquiring  them  beforehand.  Elizabeth 
faced  her  position  squarely:  she  decided  to  accept  her 
teacher.  At  least  Mrs.  Hunter  seemed  willing  to  make  it 
easy  for  her. 

When  Elizabeth  went  home  that  night  she  spoke  in 
glowing  terms  of  Mrs.  Hunter's  friendly  reception,  and 
praised  the  real  merit  of  her  housekeeping,  letting  Luther 
see  that  she  hoped  to  acquire  it,  and  left  the  little  group 
around  the  supper  table  in  great  good  humour  because 
the  visit  had  been  a  success.  She  took  Luther  after  the 
meal  was  over  and  went  to  look  for  the  eggs  about  the 
haystacks,  talking  all  the  while  of  John  Hunter's  mother 
in  the  happiest  manner  she  could  assume.  The  visit  to 
John's  home  had  made  her  a  bit  homesick  for  John  him- 
self. Luther's  presence  had  so  completely  filled  the  days 
since  John's  departure  that  she  had  not  been  lonesome 
for  him,  but  the  house  with  which  he  was  associated  had 
brought  John  back  to  the  foreground  of  her  consciousness 
with  a  rush,  and  Luther  saw  that  she  was  aglow  with  long- 
ing for  the  man  she  was  to  marry.  They  did  not  walk  as 
usual  after  the  eggs  were  hunted,  but  went  back  to  the 
house,  where  Elizabeth  excused  herself  and  soon  went  to 
bed.  John  was  expected  now  at  any  time. 

When  John  did  arrive  two  days  later  he  found  a  wel- 
come awaiting  him  that  was  all  that  the  most  exacting  of 
men  could  have  desired,  a  thing  which  Ystonisned  him 


198         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

somewhat,  for  rumour  had  reached  him  as  soon  as  he  had 
come  into  the  home  neighbourhood  that  the  new  Swede 
had  cut  him  out.  John  came  to  see  Elizabeth  with  cu- 
riosity predominating  in  his  mind,  though  there  was  a 
distinct  feeling  of  determination  to  master  the  situation  if 
rumour  had  been  right. 

Luther  was  not  at  the  house  when  John  Hunter  arrived. 
Elizabeth's  delight  over  her  lover's  return  was  not  a  thing 
to  be  deceived  about,  but  one  thing  left  its  impress  upon 
his  mind:  Elizabeth  called  this  new  man  by  his  given 
name  and  spoke  of  him  as  one  speaks  of  an  intimate. 
This  was  soon  dismissed  from  John's  mind,  however,  for 
Elizabeth  was  all  agog  to  learn  about  the  Mitchell  County 
land  which  he  said  he  had  bought,  and  John  Hunter 
stretched  his  legs  out  comfortably  in  the  mended  rocker 
of  Nathan  Hornby's  little  front  room  and  talked  enthu- 
siastically of  the  pasture  he  would  have  for  surplus  cattle 
when  he  had  got  the  farm  in  running  order.  No  reference 
was  made  to  Elizabeth's  affairs  with  her  family.  John 
was  keenly  appreciative  of  her  joy  in  his  presence,  and 
the  old  relations  were  renewed;  in  fact,  the  relations  were 
on  a  better  basis  than  they  had  been  for  several  days 
before  John's  absence.  By  a  curious  stroke  of  fate, 
Luther  was  away  from  the  house  every  time  John  Hunter 
called  for  over  a  week.  It  whetted  John's  interest  in  the 
other  man  not  to  be  able  to  see  him,  and  it  added  an  ele- 
ment to  the  courtship  which  had  threatened  to  disappear. 
This  other  man  on  the  scene  made  him  apprehensive;  he 
wanted  the  centre  of  the  stage  for  himself,  and  he  became 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         199 

more  ardent.  Elizabeth  was  courted  with  sweet  manner, 
and  all  her  wishes  considered. 

The  summer  was  a  happy  one.  Aside  from  a  simple 
white  dress  to  be  married  in,  and  two  calico  dresses  for 
house  wear,  Elizabeth  put  her  own  sewing  away  and 
helped  Aunt  Susan  repair  her  quilts  and  carpets  which 
had  suffered  badly  in  the  cyclone.  Two  weeks  had  to  be 
given  up  to  the  plastering  of  the  remodelled  house,  and  all 
the  furniture  was  revarnished  by  their  own  hands.  By 
the  time  all  this  was  finished  the  girl  felt  a  personal  pos- 
session in  every  article  the  house  contained,  and  it  had 
indeed  become  a  home  to  her.  The  home  she  had  left 
was  scarcely  more  than  a  shadow  in  Elizabeth's  mind. 
The  work  of  remodelling  and  brightening  up  Nathan's 
house  was  hastened  because  of  the  wedding,  which  they 
planned  to  have  take  place  there.  Susan  Hornby  and 
Elizabeth  had  grown  closer  than  ever  since  the  storm, 
when  each  had  feared  the  loss  of  the  other.  They  worked 
and  sewed  together,  skimping  Nathan  and  Luther  on  the 
cooking  till  the  former  threatened  to  turn  cook  in  self- 
defence. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  not  come  to  help  when  the  neigh- 
bours put  up  the  demolished  house.  The  bridges  had 
been  out  and  no  one  had  gone  to  warn  her  that  help  was 
needed.  When  the  news  had  arrived  the  omission  had 
been  taken  as  an  offence  and  no  effort  had  been  made  to  go 
at  all.  The  last  week  in  September,  however,  Elizabeth's 
mother  came  to  see  her.  The  girl  was  helping  Susan 
Hornby  put  fresh  straw  under  the  rag  carpet  in  the  front 


200        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

room.  The  straw  was  carefully  spread  and  the  carpet 
tacked  along  one  side  of  the  room,  and  Elizabeth,  hammer 
in  hand,  turned  over  from  her  knees  to  a  sitting  position 
and  surveyed  her  mother  with  a  dull  fear  at  her  heart;  she 
knew  what  her  mother's  presence  meant.  Mrs.  Farnshaw 
resented  the  new  carpet,  she  resented  Susan  Hornby,  she 
resented  the  comradeship  she  felt  existed  between  her 
daughter  and  this  alien  woman  who  was  no  relation  to 
her  by  the  ties  of  blood.  Ignoring  Aunt  Susan's  courteous 
attempts  to  make  her  feel  welcome,  she  drove  straight  to 
the  object  of  her  visit  and  demanded  that  Elizabeth  come 
home  to  be  married. 

"I'm  going  to  be  married  right  here,  ma,"  Elizabeth 
replied,  twisting  the  hammer  around  in  the  other  hand 
and  filled  with  apprehension.  She  knew  her  mother's 
tendency  to  hold  fast  to  foolish  demands. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw's  ready  handkerchief  went  up  to  her 
eyes  at  once. 

"Now  look  a'  here,  Lizzie,  I  ain't  got  no  other  girl,  an' 
it's  a  pretty  how-de-do  if  I  can't  have  my  only  daughter 
married  from  my  own  house." 

Elizabeth  fidgeted  about,  laying  her  hammer  down 
and  picking  up  a  straw  that  had  pushed  its  way 
through  the  loose  rags  of  the  carpet  on  which  she  sat. 
After  a  time  she  turned  her  eyes  to  Aunt  Susan  with 
a  mute  call  for  help.  Susan  Hornby  was  decidedly  un- 
comfortable. 

"I  thought  of  course  you'd  come  home  to  be  married," 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  continued. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         201 

"You  know  pa  'd  raise  a  fuss  as  soon  as  I  appeared,"  her 
daughter  replied. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  brightened.  She  was  strong  on  argu- 
ment. Elizabeth's  silence  had  disconcerted  her,  but  if 
she  would  talk  —  well,  Mrs.  Farnshaw  began  to  have 
hopes. 

"You've  been  away  all  summer,"  she  sobbed,  returning 
to  her  handkerchief. 

Elizabeth  kept  her  eyes  on  Aunt  Susan's  face  and  did 
not  reply  again.  There  was  another  silence. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  began  to  be  desperate. 

"Folks  has  talked  an'  talked,"  she  said,  "an5  I  let 
'em,  because  I  thought  when  you  come  home  for  th' 
weddin'  it'd  put  a  stop  t'  their  tongues.  You've  been 
down  here,  an'  you  don't  know  how  hard  it's  been." 

Elizabeth  had  listened  in  a  distressed  silence  and 
studied  Susan  Hornby's  face  for  signs  of  assistance. 

"I  guess  they  haven't  talked "  she  began  at 

length,  and  then  stopped  short  at  something  in  Aunt 
Susan's  eye  which  confirmed  her  mother's  words. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  have,"  her  mother  hastened  to  say. 
"They  say  you  ain't  got  no  proper  pride,  an'  they  say 
you've  got  too  stuck  up  t'  live  to  home  any  longer,  now 
that  you're  goin'  t'  marry  rich,  an'  they  say  I  can't  make 
your  things  good  enough  for  you  t'  be  married  in,  an' " 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  voiced  her  greatest  grievance  — 
her  neighbours  criticised  her.  She  broke  into  such  real 
weeping  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  moved  by  it. 

Forgetting  her  policy  of  silence,  Elizabeth  argued  and 


202         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

explained.  Talking  to  her  mother,  but  keeping  her  eyes 
glued  on  Aunt  Susan's,  she  went  into  details  about  the 
difficulty  at  home. 

"You  know  pa  '11  find  some  excuse  to  strike  me  as  soon 
as  I  get  there,"  she  concluded.  She  had  a  painful  sense  of 
weakness  and  inadequacy  in  the  presence  of  her  mother's 
determination.  Her  own  worries  seemed  so  trivial  in  the 
presence  of  her  mother's  sorrow. 

"'E  won't,  I  tell  you,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  repeated  for  the 
twentieth  time.  "'E'll  let  you  alone  if  you  do  th'  right 
thing.  We  love  our  children  —  if  th'  neighbours  don't 
think  so,"  she  wailed. 

As  she  talked,  however,  she  kept  a  shrewd  eye  on  her 
daughter  and  soon  saw  that  Elizabeth's  eyes  turned  to 
those  of  Aunt  Susan.  It  was  not  enough  for  this  Hornby 
woman  to  be  neutral;  Mrs.  Farnshaw  decided  to  enlist  her. 

"If  you  had  a  girl  you'd  want  'er  t'  be  married  in  your 
own  house,  I  know,"  she  said,  leaning  forward  eagerly. 

"  Suppose  you  only  had  th'  one "  She  saw  the  quick 

tears  gathering.  "Did  you  ever  have  a  little  girl?"  she 
asked. 

Susan  Hornby's  emotions  mastered  her.  She  made  no 
attempt  to  reply. 

"Then  tell  'er  t'  come  home  for  just  two  more  days," 
she  said  quickly.  "I  don't  ask  for  no  more  than  that. 
Just  long  enough  to  put  an  end  t'  this  talk.  I  don't  never 
'spect  t'  have  'er  after  that,  but " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and,  crossing  the  room,  dragged 
Elizabeth  to  her  feet  also. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         203 

"I've  got  t'  have  you,  Lizzie,  an'  that's  all  th'  is  about 
it!"  They  looked  at  each  other  a  long  time.  Elizabeth 
weakened. 

What  could  the  girl  do?  Against  her  instincts,  against 
her  better  judgment,  against  her  will,  she  consented. 

"See  to  it,  then,  that  no  new  thing  comes  up  to  disgrace 
us,"  she  said,  stepping  back  to  avoid  the  compelling  touch 
of  the  hand  that  clutched  at  her  sleeve,  still  looking  across 
despairingly  at  Aunt  Susan. 

All  help  had  been  taken  from  that  quarter.  Bewildered, 
torn  between  her  comprehension  of  mother  love  and  a  real 
knowledge  of  this  particular  case,  Susan  Hornby  fumbled 
with  the  hem  of  her  apron  and  did  not  look  up. 

Elizabeth,  alone  and  without  support,  was  easily  vic- 
timized. 

"I'll  go,"  she  said  briefly. 

So  the  peaceful  summer  ended  for  Elizabeth  Farnshaw 
with  her  promise  to  go  home.  She  hated  to  go,  but  the 
phrasing  of  her  mother's  plea,  "just  two  more  days," 
helped  to  sustain  her.  It  had  been  a  happy  summer,  two 
days  would  not  be  long,  and  then  would  come  John  and 
the  new  home. 

There  had  been  many  reasons  for  the  happiness  of 
Elizabeth's  last  weeks  of  girlhood.  The  days  had  been 
full  of  pleasant  work,  and  John  had  taken  regular  and 
masterful  possession  of  her  evenings.  He  came  always 
such  a  picture  of  natty  cleanliness  and  taste  that  it  was  a 
joy  to  be  the  object  of  his  wooing.  When  John  had  found 


204         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  Elizabeth  was  not  in  love  with  Luther,  as  she  had 
been  reported  to  be,  but  accorded  the  old  grounds  of 
affection  to  him,  he  had  spread  himself  comfortably  in 
Luther's  presence  and  drawn  him  into  conversation  when- 
ever it  could  be  done.  In  addition  to  a  desire  to  set  his 
well-polished  boots  in  strong  contrast  against  those  of 
busy,  unobserving  Luther,  the  only  dressing  of  which  was 
an  occasional  soaking  in  oil  to  keep  them  from  cracking, 
John  Hunter  had  been  half  forced  to  like  honest,  kindly 
Luther  Hansen.  Luther  was  not  a  man  to  arouse  an- 
tagonisms. He  assumed  his  natural  role  with  Elizabeth 
even  before  her  fiance  and  let  the  ground  of  their  cordiality 
and  friendship  rest  on  such  sensible  basis  that  they  were 
accepted  as  a  matter  of  course. 

John  Hunter  had  been  restless  and  half  angry  when  he 
had  first  come  home  from  Mitchell  County  —  a  thing  he 
had  not  let  Elizabeth  see  —  but  his  feelings  had  been 
soothed  and  delighted  by  the  display  of  her  preference  for 
him  on  his  return.  A  new  buggy  had  been  purchased, 
and  it  was  John  Hunter's  pride. 

Elizabeth  was  unconscious  of  any  rivalry.  The  new 
buggy  was  a  great  acquisition.  It  was  the  first  to  appear 
in  that  part  of  the  country.  She  felt  favoured  to  have  it 
at  her  service,  but  the  crown  of  all  her  felicity  had  been 
John  Hunter's  adoration,  which  had  been  poured  at  her 
feet  without  stint.  If  she  wished  to  go  anywhere,  she 
had  but  to  mention  it.  The  relations  of  the  early  summer 
had  been  reestablished.  He  talked  of  the  new  land,  and  of 
the  cattle  to  be  placed  on  it  in  two  or  three  years,  when 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         205 

the  calves  he  was  buying  would  be  grown.  The  lots  in 
which  he  had  held  an  equity  since  his  father's  death  had 
been  sold  before  his  mother's  departure  from  the  old  home, 
and  twenty-five  calves  had  been  picked  up  from  the  sur- 
rounding farmers  with  the  money  thus  secured.  Every 
evening  John  drove  to  some  farm  to  look  for  young  cattle, 
and  Elizabeth  accompanied  him.  Cash  had  been  paid 
for  the  Western  land,  and  at  the  end  of  the  summer  most 
of  the  money  that  had  been  received  from  the  estate  had 
been  invested. 

As  they  drove  from  farm  to  farm,  discussing  prices, 
sheds,  feed,  and  the  wintering  of  stock,  the  girl's  heart 
swelled  with  gratitude  that  her  lines  had  fallen  in  such 
well-provided  places.  The  pinch  of  poverty  was  to  be 
lifted  from  her  life. 

More  than  the  plenty,  Elizabeth  prized  the  peace  which 
seemed  to  be  drifting  in  her  direction. 

Every  day  since  John  Hunter's  return  had  been  a  happy 
day.  John  consulted  her  judgment  and  her  wishes,  and 
it  was  done  with  that  air  of  comradeship  which  was  the 
most  sought-for  thing  in  Elizabeth  Farnshaw's  life.  All 
her  lonely  days  she  had  longed  for  it,  and  in  all  her  girlish 
dreams  it  had  been  the  prime  factor.  She  had  obtained 
glimpses  of  it  in  Susan  Hornby's  home,  and  now,  she  told 
herself  joyfully,  it  was  to  be  a  permanent  feature  of  her 
future  life. 

With  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  advent  a  series  of  unpleasant 
things  began  to  manifest.  John  was  glad  that  the  mar- 
riage was  to  take  place  in  Elizabeth's  own  home.  Because 


206        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

of  their  engagement,  he  had  heard  little  of  the  gossip  about 
her,  but  it  had  been  enough  to  make  him  suspect  more  and 
wish  her  well  out  of  it.  If  now  she  would  go  home  it 
would  make  the  whole  thing  look  right  and  stop  the 
reports. 

John  Hunter  was  distinctly  a  man  of  moods  and  re- 
flected the  conditions  in  which  he  happened  for  the 
moment  to  find  himself.  When  he  came  to  see  Eliza- 
beth the  night  after  her  mother  had  been  to  see  her,  he 
was  pleased  that  she  was  to  go  home  the  next  day,  but 
he  instantly  partook  of  the  discontent  she  showed.  He 
took  her  to  his  mother's  house  for  a  short  stay,  but  both 
were  heavy  of  spirits  and  John  was  actually  depressed. 
Elizabeth  was  almost  abnormally  sensitive  to  the  attitude 
assumed  toward  her,  and  had  she  been  shrewd  she  would 
never  have  carried  any  doubts  of  her  own  efficiency  or 
judgment  to  her  lover,  but  she  was  as  open  as  a  little  child. 
John  left  her  at  the  little  gate  and  drove  away  so  promptly 
that  the  girl's  lip  quivered  as  she  turned  in  the  dark  to  go 
to  the  house. 

Elizabeth  found  Luther  seated  on  the  low  doorstep. 
The  shadow  of  the  house  prevented  her  from  seeing  him 
till  she  was  almost  upon  him. 

"Of  all  things!  I  never  thought  of  you  being  here," 
she  exclaimed,  thinking  of  the  kiss  she  had  just  received 
not  three  rods  distant. 

Luther  laughed  sheepishly. 

"I  hadn't  intended  t'  see  your  good-nights,"  he  said 
honestly,'" but  I'd  'a'  made  a  worse  mess  of  it  by  runnin' 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         207 

than  I  did  by  settin'  still.  Anyhow,  you're  goin'  t'  be 
married  in  three  days,  an'  it  needn't  make  no  difference. 
I've  been  a  thinkin'  about  you  an'  I  waited  up  t'  talk." 
He  made  room  on  the  step  for  her  to  sit  beside  him. 

"Thinking  about  me?" 

"  Yes.  Mrs.  Hornby  says  your  mother  was  here  to-day. 
She's  kind  of  worried  about  it  —  you  goin'  home,  I  mean. 
I  don't  know  about  that  —  I  hope  it'll  be  all  right.  Try 
an'  make  it  right,  Lizzie.  Th'  Hunters  go  a  good  deal  on 
looks." 

Elizabeth  was  silent. 

Luther  felt  it  and  interpreted  her  silence  rightly. 

"Is  that  something  I'm  not  to  talk  about,  Lizzie?"  he 
asked. 

The  question  hurt  worse  than  the  statement. 

"I  —  I  —  don't  know  why  you  ask  me  such  a  thing, 
Luther,"  she  faltered. 

Luther  arose.  He  was  not  to  be  offended,  nor  would  he 
put  away  what  he  had  waited  to  say. 

"I  only  wanted  to  say  that  —  well,  do  what  th'  folks 
ask  of  you,  Lizzie.  You're  only  home  for  a  couple  of  days 
an*  —  an"' —  after  a  long  pause  —  "an'  it  won't  hurt 
nobody." 

Elizabeth  got  up  slowly. 

"Good-night,  Luther,"  she  said. 

She  wanted  to  offer  him  her  hand;  she  was  sure  she  was 
hurting  him,  but  she  could  not  talk  to  him  on  this  point; 
the  very  truth  of  his  suspicious  that  the  Hunter  estimate 
of  her  might  be  affected  by  scandal  made  of  it  a  sore  point. 


208         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Elizabeth  Farnshaw  would  be  loyal  to  mutual  relations, 
even  where  Luther's  feelings  were  concerned. 

They  met  in  the  morning  on  perfectly  friendly  ground, 
but  there  was  an  attitude  of  reserve  which  brooked  no 
remark  on  her  part.  Luther  departed  early  for  his  own 
house,  and  John  Hunter  came  before  noon  to  take  her  to 
her  father's  home.  After  all  her  simple  possessions  were 
in  the  wagon,  Elizabeth  went  back  and  threw  herself  into 
the  arms  of  Aunt  Susan,  who  was  crying  miserably. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Susan!  I  feel  as  if  I  had  taken  leave  of  you 
forever.  I've  —  I've  been  so  happy  in  this  house  —  till 
yesterday.  Can  I  ever  repay  what  you've  done  for 
me?" 

Susan  Hornby  gathered  Elizabeth  into  her  arms  and 
sobbed  more  vehemently.  The  silence  was  unbroken  ex- 
cept by  those  sobs,  and  at  last  the  girl,  moved  out  of  her- 
self, tried  to  comfort  her,  and  said  coaxingly: 

"I'll  live  right  near  you.  I'll  see  you  every  few  days 
and  —  and  I'll  never  forget  how  good  you've  been  to  me. 
It's  —  it's  too  bad  these  last  two  days  had  to  be  so  —  so 
different.  I  —  I  don't  know  what  went  wrong,  but  — 
but"  -  she  laughed  desperately — "where  have  our  good 
times  gone  to?  I'm  going  to  be  married  to  the  man  I 
love  —  and  I'm  going  to  live  right  near  you  —  and  — 
what  is  the  matter  with  us,  anyway?" 

Susan  Hornby  clung  to  the  girl  and  could  not  cease  cry- 
ing, till  at  last  Elizabeth  lifted  her  chin  on  one  finger  and 
with  a  corner  of  Aunt  Susan's  own  apron,  wiped  the  tears 
from  the  contorted  face. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         209 

"Now  then,  don't  cry,"  she  said,  kissing  her  again  and 
again. 

"Keep  the  folks  in  a  good  humour,  dear.  The  Hunters 
'11  feel  awful  if  anything  more  happens,"  Susan  Hornby 
faltered,  and  then,  to  keep  the  girl  from  replying,  and  to 
avoid  the  surprise  and  pain  in  the  young  face,  pushed  her 
gently  but  firmly  toward  the  door  and  John  Hunter,  who 
was  waiting  impatiently. 


CHAPTER  X 

PHILOSOPHY   OF    ELIZABETH'S   LIFE    VOICED 

TO-MORROW,"  Elizabeth  said,  significantly,  as 
John  turned  back  to  get  into  the  wagon  after  they 
had  deposited  the  trunk  in  the  house. 

"To-morrow,"  John  smiled  back  at  her.  It  was  a 
reluctant  smile  he  gave  her,  but  the  bid  for  affection  in 
her  young  eyes  was  irresistible. 

"He  had  to  be  nice,"  she  thought  as  she  walked  back 
to  the  house;  "it  was  a  good  way." 

A  sudden  thought  came  to  her. 

"Did  you  ask  Luther  to  the  wedding?"  she  asked  of  her 
mother  as  she  entered. 

"No,  I  didn't.  What  do  you  want  of  that  Swede?" 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  asked  petulantly.  "I  should  think  - 

What  she  thought  was  never  recorded  in  words,  for 
Elizabeth  was  out  of  the  house  like  a  flash,  calling  to  John 
Hunter  as  she  ran  down  the  road  after  him.  It  was  a 
surprised  John  who  took  her  message. 

"Yes,  I'll  tell  him,  but  I  don't  see  what  you  want  of 
that  Swede  —  he  always  seems  to  cut  such  a  figure  in 
everything  you  do,"  John  said  discontentedly. 

"Well,  just  tell  him  that  ma  sends  the  invitation,  will 
you?"  was  all  Elizabeth  could  say. 

210 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         211 

It  was  John's  first  contemptuous  remark  about  Luther, 
and  it  disturbed  her.  They  were  to  live  closer  to  Luther 
Hansen  than  any  other  neighbour  and  it  was  essential 
that  they  be  on  friendly  terms.  She  had  hoped  it  might 
be  that  John  would  appreciate  the  good  things  in  Luther 
which  even  his  nationality  could  not  spoil.  Dear  old 
Luther!  In  spite  of  the  observation  she  had  seemed  to 
resent  the  night  before,  Elizabeth  loved  him  —  loved  him 
all  the  more  because  she  had  been  obliged  to  hurt  him.  It 
suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  John  might  not  deliver  her 
message.  She  put  the  thought  away  from  her  instantly, 
saying  aloud: 

"He'd  do  anything  he  knew  I  wanted  him  to  do,"  and 
then  was  struck  with  the  doubtful  tone  in  which  it  was 
said. 

"  What  did  you  say?"  her  mother  asked,  for  Elizabeth 
had  just  entered  the  door. 

"Nothing.     I  hate  this  wedding!" 

"Well,  now,  I  like  that,  after  all  I've  done  to  give  you  a 
good  time,"  the  mother  said  angrily. 

"No,  ma;  you  mean  to  give  yourself  a  good  time.  You 
make  me  come  home  when  I  don't  want  to,  and  you  ask 
people  I  hate  to  have,  and  then  you  leave  out  the  people  I 
want  most.  It  isn't  my  wedding.  I'm  going  to  stand  up 
and  be  married  so  as  to  get  rid  of  it  all,  but  John  won't 
have  the  minister  I  want,  you  won't  have  the  people  I 
want,  I'm  most  sure  pa  '11  kick  up  some  kind  of  a  row 
about  it  —  and  —  and  I  was  so  happy  till  you  came  and 
made  me  consent  to  it.  What  did  you  do  it  for?" 


212        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Do  it  for?  You  ungrateful  child!  What  did  I  do  it 
for?  I'll  tell  you,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw's  eyes  hardened  into 
momentary  coals  of  fire.  "I  did  it  because  I  don't  like 
your  whole  goings  on.  Minister?  Why  don't  you  say 
preacher,  like  the  rest  of  your  folks?  It's  that  Hornby 

woman.  She  made  you  talk  of  divorces "  At 

thought  of  all  her  supposed  wrongs  at  the  hand  of  Susan 
Hornby  Mrs.  Farnshaw  broke  into  a  half  scream  and 
ended  by  throwing  herself  into  a  chair  by  her  daughter's 
side  and  clinging  to  her  hand  with  her  upturned  face 
streaming  over  with  tears,  her  mouth  convulsed  with  pain 
till  speech  was  impossible. 

Moved  to  repentance  at  the  sight  of  the  pang  she  had 
caused,  Elizabeth  fell  on  her  knees  by  her  mother's  side, 
and  with  her  arms  encircling  her,  cried  contritely: 

"I  didn't  mean  it,  ma,  really  —  that  is,  I  didn't  mean 
it  that  way.  Don't  mind  what  I  said.  I  do  love  you." 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  clung  to  her,  so  shaken  by  sobs  that  she 
still  could  not  speak,  and  the  penitent  daughter  soothed 
and  comforted  her  with  her  own  heart  breaking  at  the 
thoughtlessness-  of  her  speech. 

"Put  it  away  and  don't  remember  it;  I  didn't  mean  it. 

I'm  tired  to  death  —  and  —  and "  She  pondered  a 

moment  and  then  made  the  experiment.  "And  I  want  to 
speak  of  Aunt  Susan  to  you.  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  feel 
so  bad  about  me  liking  her.  She  hasn't  put  a  single  notion 
into  my  head.  Be  good  and  get  acquainted  with  her. 
She'd  like  to  have  you.  If  you  knew  her  you'd  know  how 
different  she  is  from  what  you  think.  I'll  take  you  to  see 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         213 

her  the  very  first  time  you  come  to  see  me.  Say  you 
will." 

Elizabeth  stroked  the  thin  hair  back  from  the  passion- 
worn  face,  and  waited  for  her  reply. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  shook  her  head,  but  could  not  meet  the 
offer  squarely. 

"The  two  of  you'd  be  a  wishin'  you  could  get  rid  of  me 
so's  you  could  talk  your  own  kind  of  talk,"  she  said  with 
conviction.  "'Taint  any  use,  Lizzie;  I  ain't  your  kind. 
Your  pa  'd  be  madder  at  me  'n  ever,  too." 

"Well,  he's  mad  all  the  time,  anyhow,"  Elizabeth 
said. 

"No  'e  wasn't  till  you  said  that  awful  thing  —  that  is, 
'e  was  mad  often  enough,  but  not  like  Vs  been  since. 
You  don't  know  what  you  done  t'  your  mother  then.  Be 
good,  an'  go  t'  'im,  an'  settle  'is  mind  'fore  you're  married. 
It  don't  matter  if  I  know  Miss  Hornby  'r  not;  but  what 
a  difference  it  'd  make  t'  me  if  he  only  knowed  I  never 
put  you  up  t'  that  partin'  business !  Please  do  it  fur  me^ 
Lizzie." 

This  was  an  unexpected  turn.  Elizabeth  had  hoped  to 
avoid  the  recurrence  of  this  issue.  Knowing  that  she  was 
keeping  her  mother  in  cruel  suspense,  Elizabeth  hesitated 
and  by  every  sign  showed  her  disinclination  to  discuss  the 
subject.  What  should  she  do?  What  could  she  do? 
The  tortured  eyes  of  her  mother  studied  her  with  an  in- 
tensity which  she  could  not  avoid.  To  consent  was  to 
fail  with  her  father,  to  refuse  was  to  make  matters  much 
worse  with  the  mother  she  had  just  hurt.  Luther  had 


214        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

warned  her  to  avoid  collisions  with  her  family  which 
were  liable  to  cause  gossip;  Aunt  Susan  had  implored  her 
to  keep  the  folks  in  a  good  humour;  her  own  instincts  were 
against  the  movement,  but  her  feelings  were  pleading  for 
the  mother  who  begged  her  to  try  once  again  to  obtain 
reconciliation  before  she  was  married.  Ah!  if  this  time 
would  end  it! 

"Say  you  will,"  the  mother  begged  with  pathetic 
brevity. 

"  I'd  do  it  in  a  minute  if  there  were  the  least  opportunity 
to  succeed,  ma,"  Elizabeth  said  reluctantly,  and  not  look- 
ing toward  her.  "  If  I  do  it  and  fail,  you'll  be  wanting  me 
to  go  right  on  with  it  after  I'm  married,  and  that  I  won't 
do  for  anybody."  The  sentence  ended  savagely. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  studied  her  daughter  eagerly.  She  be- 
gan to  have  hopes.  Now,  if  only  she  could  get  the  right 
touch  on  her  appeal. 

"If  you'll  do  it,  an'  be  careful-like,  Lizzie,"  she  said 
compellingly,  "if  you'll  be  careful-like  this  time,  I'll  never 
ask  you  again.  I  can't  live  this  way  any  longer.  I  won't 
never  ask  you  again.  Please,"  she  insisted.  "  Speak  real 
soft  an'  nice-like.  Please." 

"But,  ma,  are  you  crazy?  You  told  me  —  you  told  me 
that  —  oh,dear, what's  the  use  to  tell  you  what  you  said?" 
the  girl  cried,  her  judgment  giving  its  last  caution  a 
hearing.- 

What  was  the  use  indeed! 

In  the  end  Elizabeth  consented  —  consented  with  kind- 
liness of  manner.  Since  she  was  going  to  do  it  at  all  she 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         215 

would  bo  it  lovingly.  She  argued  herself  into  that  mood 
before  she  agreed  to  the  move.  Her  mother  had  a  hard 
life;  on  one  who  knew  her  doubted  that  fact.  Neither 
would  any  one  have  doubted  that  Mr.  Farnshaw  led  a 
hard  life  also.  Some  devil  of  unrest  demanded  excite- 
ment and  disagreement. 

"Keep  the  folks  in  a  good  humour,"  Luther  had  said. 

Elizabeth  had  no  support  from  any  quarter.  She  could 
only  consent. 

"I'll  do  it,  ma,"  she  agreed.  "I  am  going  away  to  be 
happy.  John  and  his  mother  never  have  a  word  together 
that  isn't  pleasant." 

"I  hope  so,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  said  with  relief,  "but  men 
don't  always  treat  their  wives  like  they  do  their  mothers. 
It's  something  they  get  t'  feel  about  their  wives  that's  th' 
trouble.  Women  think  th'  only  way  t'  be  good  wives  's 
t'  give  up  — •  an'  men  think  so  too.  Women's  most  always 
afraid  of  what  th'  men  '11  think,  an'  th'  men  know  it." 

"Well,  ma,  come  on!  There's  lots  to  do;  let's  get  at 
it.' 

Elizabeth  was  in  no  mood  to  philosophize.  She  hated 
the  coming  conference  with  her  father  to  the  utter  ex- 
clusion of  every  other  thought  at  that  moment,  and  had 
hardly  heard  what  her  mother  had  said. 

"You'll  never  regret  bein'  good  t'  your  old  mother," 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  said,  rubbing  her  hand  over  the  girl's 
glossy  braids  as  Elizabeth  turned  away  to  begin  the  work 
she  had  suggested.  "My!  it  don't  seem  like  six  weeks 
since  I  was  your  age  —  young  an'  startin'  out  —  an'  life 


216         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

looked  good  t'  me,  I  kin  tell  you.  Now  I  ain't  got  nothin' 
t'  be  good  t'  me  but  you." 

"I  think  I'll  wash  my  hair  before  the  sun  gets  low," 
Elizabeth  said.  "Then  I'll  help  you  in  here."  She  was 
disturbed  about  the  promise  she  had  given  and  wanted  to 
get  away  from  her  mother  before  she  should  say  some  un- 
lucky thing  that  would  show  it.  She  let  her  hair  down  and 
loosened  it  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  It  was  a  glittering 
garment  which  covered  her  from  head  to  knees  in  wavy 
strands  which  flew  about  her  in  lines  of  beauty  as  she 
moved  about  getting  her  hot  water  and  towels.  Mrs. 
Farnshaw  watched  her  with  an  expression  near  real  affec- 
tion. She  came  over  and  ran  her  hands  through  the  rip- 
pling mass  as  the  girl  turned  to  go  out  of  doors  where  she 
could  splash  comfortably,  and  after  she  had  gone  passed 
her  hands  over  her  own  faded  locks  slowly. 

"Lizzie's  always  had  th'  best  of  everything,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head  sadly.  "  I  wisht  she  wasn't  s'  set  against 
'er  pa.  I'm  goin'  t'  make  'er  do  it  all  th'  same." 

The  girl  in  the  backyard  pondered  upon  the  same  thing 
as  she  dried  her  hair  in  the  hot  sun. 

"I  hate  it,"  she  thought,  "but  I'm  going  to  do  it  just 
the  best  I  know  how.  Ma  didn't  say  it,  nor  agree  with  it, 
and  I'm  going  to  make  it  as  easy  as  I  can  for  her  before  I 
go.  Will  we  ever  be  like  they  are?"  she  asked  herself  half 
seriously,  and  felt  sure  it  could  not  be.  "Ma  has  always 
insisted  on  things  and  never  lets  pa  nor  the  rest  of  us 
forget  anything  or  lay  it  down.  I  believe  a  woman  can 
manage  those  things.  Aunt  Susan  does." 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         217 

As  Elizabeth  started  to  the  house,  she  noticed  her 
father  and  the  boys  coming  from  the  cornfield  with  a 
wagon-load  of  snapped  corn.  Joe  drove  the  team  and 
his  father  sat  in  the  back  with  his  feet  dangling  over  the 
end-gate.  They  were  turning  into  the  barnyard  when  she 
discovered  them. 

With  her  hair  floating  about  her  like  a  veil,  she  started 
at  once  for  the  barn.  She  could  not  talk  this  out  with  her 
mother  listening,  and  if  she  did  not  do  it  now  it  would  be 
forced  upon  her  at  supper,  when  her  father  was  certain  to 
be  in  his  worst  mood.  Mr.  Farnshaw  always  came  to  the 
table  tired. 

Seeing  Elizabeth  coming  toward  him,  Mr.  Farnshaw 
dropped  from  the  wagon  and  went  to  fill  the  swill  pails. 
The  hogs  knew  they  were  to  be  fed  and  set  up  their  usual 
noisy  clamour.  It  was  his  purpose  to  divert  their  atten- 
tion till  the  boys  could  drive  the  wagon  into  the  corral, 
hoping  also  to  leave  his  daughter  where  she  could  not  ap- 
proach him.  Mr.  Farnshaw  delighted  in  making  people 
wait.  With  a  pail  in  either  hand  he  advanced  to  the 
fence.  The  hogs  left  the  gate  and  ran  to  meet  him,  up- 
setting the  trough  as  they  came.  Setting  the  pails  down, 
he  snatched  up  a  peeled  osage  stick,  kept  outside  of  the 
pen  for  that  purpose,  and  belaboured  angrily  the  snouts 
sticking  over  the  fence.  The  pigs  were  hungry  and  per- 
sistent. By  the  time  they  were  beaten  into  a  respectable 
awe  and  had  backed  away  squealing,  Mr.  Farnshaw 
discovered  his  daughter  at  his  elbow.  He  had  in- 
tended to  ignore  her;  he  turned  red  with  rage.  With 


218         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

a  look  of  infinite  contempt,  he  stooped  and  picked  up  a 
pail. 

"What  a  racket  they  do  make,"  she  remarked,  smiling 
at  him  without  offence. 

In  spite  of  her  smiling  manner,  Elizabeth  was  half  sick 
with  apprehension.  It  was  not  a  propitious  time  to  ap- 
proach him,  but  Mr.  Farnshaw  watched  to  see  that  a 
propitious  moment  should  not  arrive  when  he  was  in  one 
of  his  sulking  fits.  Elizabeth  had  played  that  game  with 
him  before.  With  her  courage  oozing  away,  and  a  feeling 
that  there  was  no  benefit  in  seeming  not  to  know  what  he 
was  thinking  about,  she  put  her  hand  on  his  sleeve  saying: 

"Don't  be  cross  with  me,  pa.  Really  I  do  want  to 
be  friends." 

Mr.  Farnshaw  jerked  his  arm  aside  to  avoid  her  touch 
and  spilled  half  the  pail  of  swill  on  the  ground.  He  lurched 
over  to  the  other  side  to  right  the  pail;  the  bucket  at  his 
feet  upset,  pouring  dishwater,  milk,  and  potato  peelings 
over  his  heavy  plow-shoes  as  it  went.  To  avoid  the  on- 
rush of  the  greasy  tide  he  sprang  back,  slipped  in  its  oily 
overflow,  and  fell,  the  pail  he  held  pouring  its  contents 
over  him  as  he  went.  His  gray  whiskers,  the  bottom  of  his 
jersey,  his  very  ears  dripped  swill  as  he  arose.  It  was 
disconcertingly  funny,  and  the  girl  helped  him  to  his  feet, 
laughing  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  restrain  herself. 

To  lose  his  temper  was  bad  enough,  but  to  be  made 
ridiculous  and  be  laughed  at  at  the  same  time  was  more 
than  the  man  could  endure.  He  was  insane  with  fury. 
There  was  such  a  look  of  malignity  on  his  face  as  he  jerked 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         219 

away  and  turned  to  face  her  that  the  girl,  suddenly  sobered, 
dodged  and  started  to  run.  Her  long  hair  trailed  across 
his  arm,  and  lost  to  every  consideration  but  that  of  satis- 
fying his  temper,  he  caught  it  as  she  passed  and  swinging 
the  osage  stick  to  which  he  still  clung,  shouted: 

"Damn  you!     This  is  th'  kind  of  friends  I'll  be." 

He  struck  with  all  his  force,  jerking  her  hair  at  the  same 
time.  Thrown  from  her  feet,  the  full  weight  of  the  girl's 
body  came  on  her  hair.  It  hurt  cruelly.  She  veered 
around  on  her  knees  and  caught  the  now  tangled  hair  with 
both  hands  to  ease  the  strain.  He  grabbed  her  by  one 
arm  and  rained  blows  on  her  thinly  clad  shoulders  which 
hissed  in  tune  with  the  man's  temper  as  they  fell. 

"I'll  be  friends  with  you!"  he  shrieked.  "I'll  send  you 
t'  that  young  smartie  with  some  marks  on  you  that'll  show 
'im  what  kind  of  a  wife  he's  gettin'.  You  told  your  ma 
t'  leave  me!  Maybe  you'll  be  leavin'  him  next.  Tell  'im 
I  said  so,  will  you?" 

Cut  by  the  flexible  withe,  which  left  welts  like  ribbons 
on  her  young  shoulders,  the  girl  was  unable  to  endure 
more  passively,  and  struggled  to  free  herself.  The  par- 
tially successful  opposition  infuriated  the  man.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  defence.  His  fury  knew  no  restraint. 
He  rained  the  blows  harder  than  ever  and  the  girl  finally 
caught  the  whip  itself.  Catching  the  limber  end  des- 
perately, she  jerked  it  sidewise;  unconsciously,  she  had 
deflected  her  father's  hand  so  that  it  struck  her  head  just 
below  the  ear.  It  stretched  her  senseless  at  his  feet. 

Josiah  Farnshaw  was  aghast.     With  a  gulping  cry  of 


220        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

alarm  and  pity, he  stooped  to  lift  his  unconscious  daughter. 
He  had  not  intended  to  do  so  brutal  a  thing. 

"Now  look  what  you've  gone  an'  done!" 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  watched  Elizabeth  go  to  him  with 
something  of  prayer  in  her  heart.  She  knew  the  girl's 
intention  was  to  be  square  about  the  apology  and  she 
had  strained  every  nerve  to  watch  the  encounter.  At  the 
first  blow  she  had  started  to  the  scene  of  action. 

"I  think  you  might  have " 

The  man's  relenting  mood  vanished.  He  dropped  the 
limp  body  and  rose  to  his  full  height. 

"You  damned  fool,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  you  hadn't  set 
this  a  goin'  an'  kept  it  a  goin'  this  wouldn't  'a'  happened. 
Of  all  th'  blasted,  impossible  things  it's  t'  have  a  snivelling 
she-devil  always  at  your  elbow.  Keep  your  hands  off  of 
me!"  he  cried,  shaking  himself  loose  from  the  detaining 
hand  she  had  laid  on  his  arm.  "I'm  goin'  t'  git." 

The  boys  had  arrived  by  that  time.  They  carried  the 
girl  to  the  well  and  bathed  her  face  and  hands  with  fresh 
water,  while  the  head  of  the  house  strode  down  the  road 
toward  the  north.  Elizabeth  was  not  seriously  injured 
and  recovered  consciousness  as  soon  as  the  water  touched 
her.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  left  the  task  of  resuscitation  to  her 
sons  and  looked  after  her  rapidly  disappearing  husband 
with  eyes  that  longed  for  reconciliation.  Reconciliation 
for  one  thing  or  another  had  been  the  most  driving  inspira- 
tion her  twenty  years  of  married  life  had  known;  it  was 
her  most  potent  incentive.  Cowed  and  broken,  fear 
bound  her  fast  to  his  footsteps.  Not  even  the  daughter 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         221 

struggling  to  her  feet  at  her  side  could  detract  her  atten- 
tion from  his  receding  form. 

Elizabeth  stood  balancing  herself  dizzily  for  a  moment 
before  she  began  really  to  see  or  grasp  what  was  going  on 
around  her;  then  the  full  value  of  the  mishap  broke  upon 
her.  All  that  Luther  and  Aunt  Susan  had  hinted  at  had 
befallen  her  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  avoid  it. 

But  not  even  the  calamity  which  had  befallen  them 
could  stop  their  busy  ringers.  The  preparations  for  the 
wedding  feast  were  a  merciful  feature  of  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  The  guests  had  been  invited  and  must  be  pre- 
pared for.  The  hair  that  had  been  washed  was  braided, 
the  mother's  tears  dried,  and  every  member  of  the  family 
pressed  into  the  service.  The  entire  house  was  cleaned 
and  rearranged.  Not  till  after  midnight  did  the  members 
of  the  little  group  seek  their  beds.  Mr.  Farnshaw  had  not 
returned.  They  had  even  forgotten  him  a  large  part  of 
the  time  in  the  hurry.  Elizabeth  regarded  the  half  dozen 
bruises  which  her  sleeves  would  not  cover  with  alarm  when 
she  was  at  last  ready  to  climb  her  ladder.  Joe  covered 
them  with  a  liniment  which  he  brought  from  the  barn.  As 
he  set  the  dusty  bottle  on  the  kitchen  table  after  the 
anointing  had  been  done,  he  remarked  dryly: 

"Wonder  if  you  an'  me'll  ever  do  that  kind  of  thing  t' 
our  young  ones?  Everybody's  always  said  we  was  like 
the  old  man." 

"Take  that  nasty  smellin'  bottle  out  of  here,  an'  don't 
begin  any  talk  about  your  pa.  Everybody  get  t'  bed," 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  commanded. 


222         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Even  the  absence  of  her  husband  could  not  dim  the 
interest  of  Mrs.  Farnshaw  in  the  coming  spectacle  of  her 
daughter's  marriage.  With  the  capacity  of  a  little  child 
to  suffer  from  unkindness  or  neglect,  she  combined  the 
same  child-like  capability  to  enjoy  pageantry  of  any  sort. 
Benches  for  curious  neighbours  surrounded  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw's  bed  when  she  retired,  and  unaccustomed  things 
filled  every  nook  of  the  usually  unattractive  room.  Ever- 
green boughs  stared  at  her  from  the  corner  opposite  her 
bed;  the  bed  was  to  be  removed  in  the  morning.  It  had 
been  her  own  romantic  idea  to  have  a  bower  for  the  bride 
and  groom.  She  had  been  so  busy  making  that  bower  that 
she  had  forgotten  her  own  troubles  for  an  hour  and  more, 
but  she  remembered  them  now  and  her  interest  died  out. 
With  a  quivering  indrawn  breath  she  turned  out  the  light 
and  dived  into  the  huge  feather-bed,  smothering  her  sobs 
by  crushing  her  pillow  against  her  face. 

Elizabeth,  upstairs,  had  her  own  disappointments  to  go 
over,  and  her  mother's  sobbing  coloured  her  ruminations. 
Her  vision  had  been  cleared.  In  spite  of  youth,  and  of 
humiliation,  she  saw  that  the  blow  that  had  undone  her 
had  been  accidental.  She  saw  what  the  encouragement 
of  temper  would  lead  to.  She  saw  the  gradual  growth  and 
stimulation  of  that  temper  in  the  daily  contentions  of  her 
father  and  mother. 

She  rubbed  her  bruises  and  thought  long  on  the  troubles 
about  her.  Accusations  and  defence,  she  decided,  were 
at  the  root  of  them.  They  were  the  universal  topics  of 
the  conversations  at  home  and  among  all  the  people  she 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         223 

had  ever  known  except  the  Hornbys  and  the  Chamber- 
lains. 

" Defence ! "  she  said  in  a  scornful  whisper.  "What  does 
it  matter  who  is  wrong  in  anything?  The  only  thing  that 
matters  is  what  is  wrong  and  to  find  a  way  to  make  it  come 
out  better  next  time,"  and  at  last  went  to  sleep  quite  un- 
aware that  she  had  evolved  a  philosophy  which  rightly 
applied  would  reorganize  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"WIVES,  SUBMIT  YOURSELVES  UNTO  YOUR  HUSBANDS, 
AS  UNTO  THE  LORD" 

THE  day  after  the  wedding  was  Friday,  or  "sweep 
day,"  as  Mrs.  Hunter  called  it.     Anxious  to  begin 
as  she  expected  to  hold  out,  and  to  form  regular 
habits  in  John's  wife,  Mrs.  Hunter  superintended  the 
housecleaning  processes. 

Elizabeth  had  had  no  idea  that  any  one  could  put  in  so 
many  hours  with  broom  and  dust  rag,  but  when  it  was 
done,  looked  about  her  with  housekeeperly  delight  in  the 
orderly,  well-kept  rooms.  As  they  had  worked  that  day 
the  girl  had  been  keenly  observant  of  John's  mother.  She 
could  not  tell  whether  John  had  told  her  of  the  trouble  in 
her  home  or  not.  Mrs.  Hunter  did  not  refer  to  it  directly 
or  indirectly,  and  this  fact  was  the  subject  of  much 
thought.  This  faultless  manner  of  dismissing  unpleasant 
things  stood  out  in  strong  contrast  to  the  endless  and  tire- 
some discussions  to  which  the  girl  was  accustomed.  Eliza- 
beth wished  she  could  find  time  to  run  over  to  Uncle 
Nate's  for  a  chat  with  Aunt  Susan,  but  the  busy  day 
absorbed  her  and  there  was  no  time  to  go  anywhere;  in 
fact,  it  was  time  for  John  to  come  home  from  Colebyville, 
where  he  had  gone  to  hunt  for  a  hired  man  before  the 

224 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         225 

cleaning  was  really  finished.  Glancing  up  at  the  clock 
on  the  lambrequined  shelf  in  the  sitting  room,  the  girl 
was  surprised  to  see  that  it  was  already  four  o'clock.  The 
cleaning  was  finished  and  she  ran  to  the  kitchen  to  put 
up  the  rag  in  her  hand,  and  then  went  hurriedly  into  her 
bedroom  to  comb  her  hair  and  get  her  dress  changed  be- 
fore John  should  come. 

Absorbed  in  her  dressing,  Elizabeth  did  not  hear  her 
husband  enter  the  house  until  she  heard  him  talking  to 
his  mother  in  the  dining  room.  With  freshly  combed 
hair  and  clean  calico  dress  she  ran  with  a  glad  little  bound 
to  meet  him. 

John  Hunter  and  his  mother  stopped  short  with  their 
conversation  when  they  saw  her  and  were  plainly  embar- 
rassed. 

The  young  wife  became  conscious  that  something  was 
wrong  and  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  in  mute  inquiry. 

Mrs.  Hunter  turned  and  went  back  to  the  kitchen. 
John  came  toward  his  wife. 

"What  is  it,  John?  What  has  happened?"  she  asked 
in  a  whisper.  There  was  a  sick  look  on  John  Hunter's 
face. 

Elizabeth  did  not  put  her  hand  on  him  as  was  her  usual 
way.  The  girl-wife  had  an  indistinct  feeling  that  her 
husband  and  his  mother  were  a  combination  for  the 
moment  of  which  she  was  not  a  part. 

"Enough  has  happened,"  the  man  said,  passing  her  and 
going  toward  their  bedroom.  "Come  in  here!" 


226         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

He  held  the  door  open  for  her  to  enter,  and  she  passed  in 
and  stood  waiting  while  he  shut  it  behind  them. 

"What  is  it,  John?"  she  queried,  unable  to  wait  longer. 

"Your  father  has  gone  to  Colebyville  and  got  into  a 
drunken  row,"  was  the  bald  statement.  "Everybody  in 
the  country  knows  about  his  fuss  with  you." 

He  did  not  offer  to  touch  her,  but  walked  over  to  the 
window  and  began  to  drum  on  the  window-pane  with 
nervous  fingers. 

"Drunk!  Row!  My  father  was  never  drunk  in  his 
life!"  was  the  astonished  exclamation  with  which  Eliza- 
beth Hunter  met  this  unbelievable  accusation. 

"Well,  he's  been  drunk  enough  to  last  the  rest  of  his 
life  this  time,  and  we're  the  laughing  stock  of  this  whole 
country." 

John  Hunter  had  gone  to  Colebyville  that  morning  in 
the  new  buggy,  rather  pleased  to  be  the  centre  of  observa- 
tion and  remark.  He  quite  liked  to  swagger  before  these 
country  people  whom  he  chose  otherwise  to  ignore.  He 
was  well  dressed,  his  buggy  was  the  admired  of  all  admir- 
ers, and  he  was  newly  married.  Country  gossip  had  some 
pleasing  qualifications.  When  he  had  arrived  at  Coleby- 
ville, however,  John  Hunter  had  found  that  country  peo- 
ple had  little  ways  of  their  own  for  the  edification  of  the 
vainglorious,  and  that  trim  young  men  in  buggies  became 
infinitely  more  interesting  to  the  scorned  when  they  could 
be  associated  with  scandal.  He  soon  found  that  he  was 
the  object  of  much  amused  discussion  and  shortly  it  be- 
came evident  that  they  were  quite  willing  that  he  should 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         227 

know  that  he  was  the  object  of  ridicule.  Pretending 
friendship,  one  of  them  enlightened  him  as  to  the  exact 
circumstances  which  were  amusing  them,  and  then 
sneaked  back  to  his  companions  with  a  verbatim  report  of 
his  surprised  exclamations.  John  Hunter  did  not  enjoy 
being  the  victim  of  a  trap  laid  by  those  he  had  patronized. 
It  had  been  a  humiliating  day,  and  John  Hunter  always 
handed  his  misfortunes  along.  He  poured  his  disgust  over 
his  wife  as  if  she  alone  were  responsible  for  all  he  had  suf- 
fered that  day. 

"What  was  the  row  with  you  about,  anyway?"  he  in- 
quired with  evident  aversion  to  her  presence. 

Elizabeth  had  withered  into  a  quivering  semblance  of 
the  confident  woman  who  had  run  to  meet  him  five  min- 
utes ago.  Her  knees  shook  under  her  with  collapse.  She 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  stammered  her  expla- 
nations as  if  she  had  been  a  naughty  child  caught  red- 
handed  in  some  act  of  which  she  was  ashamed. 

"It  —  oh,  John !  I  only  went  to  him  to  make  up  about 
—  about  other  things.  We  —  we  didn't  have  any  fuss 
exactly.  It  —  it  was  just  the  same  old  thing.  I  —  I 
begged  ma  not  to  make  me  go  home.  I  told  her  what  he 
would  —  I  knew  he'd  whip  me,  but  she  would  have  me 

go." 

"Well,  he  couldn't  whip  you  for  nothing,"  John  said, 

with  brutal  inquiry.  "What'd  you  fall  out  with  him 
for?  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  a  girl  who  was  a 
woman  grown  that  fell  out  with  her  father  till  he  whipped 
her." 


228         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Exasperated  and  miserable,  John  bestowed  blame  in 
the  only  convenient  place  he  found. 

The  young  wife  buried  her  face  in  the  counterpane  and 
did  not  attempt  to  reply,  and  after  looking  dully  at  her 
for  a  moment  John  Hunter  went  out  and  left  her  to  carry 
her  burden  of  shame  alone.  The  sound  of  the  closing  door 
assured  her  that  at  least  she  could  be  alone  in  her  tears, 
and  the  humbled  girl  gave  herself  up  to  sobbing.  Luther 
and  Aunt  Susan  would  never  be  quite  convinced  that  she 
had  done  her  best  to  avoid  trouble;  she  even  wondered 
herself  if  there  might  not  have  been  some  fault  in  the  way 
she  had  approached  her  father.  As  usual,  Elizabeth  was 
concerned  with  the  trouble  of  others.  The  whole  dread- 
ful thing  passed  before  her  with  the  vividness  of  actual 
reproduction.  John's  mother  knew  this  at  any  rate.  That 
was  a  sore  point.  They  were  in  the  kitchen  talking  it 
over  now!  With  the  conviction  of  absolute  certainty, 
Elizabeth  buried  her  face  in  the  counterpane  of  her  bridal 
couch  and  sobbed  in  desolate  abandon. 

After  a  time  John  came  back  again  and  looked  into  the 
room.  Seeing  her  distress,  he  went  over  slowly  and  lifted 
her  to  her  feet  with  a  stir  of  pity. 

"Don't  cry,"  he  said  gloomily.  "It  can't  be  helped. 
Come  on  out  to  the  kitchen  and  help  mother  with  the 
supper." 

Elizabeth  knew  that  at  that  moment  he  did  not  want 
to  caress  her,  but  her  hungry  soul  craved  comfort  beyond 
her  power  to  control  and  she  dug  her  face  into  his  breast 
and  sobbed  there  unasked. 


"THE  YOUNG  WIFE  BURIED  HER  FACE  IN  THE  COUNTERPANE  AND  DID 
NOT  ATTEMPT  TO  REPLY" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         229 

John's  arms  closed  about  her  in  a  relaxed  sort  of  way, 
and  patting  her  head  half-heartedly,  he  said  again: 

"Come  on,  dear.  Mother's  out  there  getting  supper 
alone."  He  took  his  own  pocket  handkerchief  and  wiped 
her  tear-stained  face  and,  after  kissing  her,  pushed  her 
gently  but  firmly  toward  the  kitchen. 

Supper  was  not  a  cheerful  meal.  Elizabeth's  voice  was 
thick  from  crying  and  she  did  not  talk  at  all,  while  John 
and  his  mother  could  not  discuss  the  topic  uppermost  in 
their  minds  in  her  presence.  The  feeling  that  there  was  a 
combination  of  which  she  was  not  a  part  grew  upon  the 
young  wife,  and  a  longing  for  Aunt  Susan  grew  with  it. 

"  I'd  like  to  go  over  to  Uncle  Nate's  immediately  after 
supper,"  she  said.  "  I'll  do  the  dishes  while  you  hitch  up." 

"Good  Lord!  I  don't  want  to  go  over  there  to-night," 
was  the  reply.  "I  wish  you'd  quit  calling  those  people 
'Aunt' and 'Uncle'." 

Elizabeth's  face  blazed  with  colour  as  he  got  up  and 
went  into  the  sitting  room.  The  brutality  of  the  answer 
was  so  evident  to  John's  mother  that  she  followed  him. 

"You  had  better  take  Elizabeth  to  Mr.  Hornby's,  John. 
I  don't  think  you  should  speak  to  her  in  that  way,  either," 
she  said  in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

Elizabeth  could  not  hear  Mrs.  Hunter's  remarks,  but 
John's  reply  was  audible  enough. 

"I'm  not  going  over  there  to-night.  I  don't  feel  as  if 
I  ever  wanted  to  go  anywhere  again." 

She  also  heard  Mrs.  Hunter's  low  "Sh!"  and  felt  more 
than  ever  an  alien. 


23o         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

When  the  dishes  were  finished  Mrs.  Hunter  went  up- 
stairs. John  followed  her. 

"I  will  not  be  hurt,  because  I  will  not  see  hurt,"  Eliza- 
beth told  herself  as  she  slipped  through  the  house  to  her 
own  room.  Because  her  lips  quivered  as  she  said  it,  she 
busied  herself  in  taking  down  her  hair  to  brush  for  the 
night.  Her  sleeves  were  tight  and  hindered,  and  she  took 
off  her  dress  and  folded  it  across  the  back  of  a  chair  care- 
fully, and  finished  braiding  her  hair  in  her  petticoat. 

John  found  her  with  her  white  arms  uplifted  as  she 
combed  the  long  strands.  Moved  by  her  girlish  beauty  and 
freshness,  he  went  over  and  put  his  arms  about  her.  The 
girl's  mouth  was  full  of  hairpins,  and  she  mumbled  some- 
thing he  did  not  understand.  He  kept  his  arms  about  her 
insistently,  and  rubbed  his  chin  on  her  smooth  shoulder 
with  a  little  laugh.  She  struggled  to  free  herself,  but  he 
held  her  teasingly,  and  finally  accepting  the  playful  tussle 
as  an  apology,  though  she  knew  it  was  not  an  adequate 
one,  she  gave  up.  She  was  resolved  not  to  split  hairs 
with  her  husband  over  small  matters;  she  would  not  nurse 
grievances. 

As  for  John  Hunter,  he  had  not  thought  of  apology, 
-or  of  the  necessity  of  one;  he  had  been  moved  by  the 
sight  of  the  tempting  figure  of  the  woman  he  possessed. 

Elizabeth  loved  her  husband  and  wished  to  believe  that 
he  loved  her;  she  was  unwilling  to  begin  her  married  life 
with  any  sort  of  whining  or  suspicion,  so  she  ended  the 
matter  by  resting  unresisting  in  his  arms  and  turning  her 
young  face  up  to  be  kissed. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         231 

The  next  morning  Elizabeth  washed  the  dishes  alone, 
and  Mrs.  Hunter  followed  John  to  the  barn  and  later  to 
the  pasture,  where  he  went  to  catch  a  horse. 

"Where  are  you  going  with  a  horse?"  his  mother  asked 
as  they  passed  through  the  pasture  gate. 

"I  have  to  go  over  to  Chamberlain's  to  help  with  a 
small  stack  of  hay  he  put  up  in  the  field  and  wants  to 
move,  now  that  he's  got  the  time.  I  told  him  he'd  better 
let  me  help  him  before  the  new  hired  man  comes  to  begin 
the  husking;  I'm  going  to  need  the  team  every  day  after 
that,"  John  replied. 

"So  you  got  a  man,  did  you?"  Mrs.  Hunter  said,  catch- 
ing hold  of  his  arm  to  keep  him  from  outwalking  her. 
"  If  you're  going  as  far  as  Chamberlain's  you'd  better  take 
Elizabeth  over  to  Mr.  Hornby's  while  you're  hitched  up. 
I'll  get  dinner.  You  hurt  her  feelings  last  night,  and 
that'll  be  a  good  way  to  make  it  right  with  her." 

"Now  look  here,  mother,"  John  Hunter  answered  de- 
cidedly, "I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  With  this  story 
going  around  we'll  stay  at  home  where  we  belong.  Any- 
how, the  sooner  she's  cut  away  from  these  country  jakes 
the  better  for  her,  and  I'll  begin  right  here  and  now.  I 
don't  intend  —  never  have  intended  —  to  have  these 
people  tacked  to  my  coat-tails  every  move  I  make.  If 
she's  hurt,  she'll  simply  have  to  get  over  it;  besides,  she 
didn't  stay  mad  long  —  you  saw  that  for  yourself.  She's 
all  right  if  she's  managed  right." 

It  was  true,  Mrs.  Hunter  reflected.  Elizabeth  had  not 
seemed  to  take  much  offence,  and  was  perfectly  good- 


232         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

natured  this  morning.  She  did  not  intend  to  interfere 
with  the  affairs  of  her  son  and  his  wife.  Elizabeth  seemed 
submissive,  and  promised  well.  She  hoped  that  this 
horrid  gossip  would  die  down.  That  was  a  nasty  thing 
to  be  mixed  up  with.  Mr.  Hunter  had  never  had  anything 
like  that  happen  to  him  before,  and  she  was  devoutly  glad 
they  were  away  out  here  in  Kansas  where  no  one  who  had 
ever  known  them  would  hear  it.  Elizabeth  would  be  all 
the  better  as  a  wife  if  she  did  not  start  out  by  running 
around  too  much.  It  did  not  occur  to  Mrs.  Hunter,  nor 
to  her  son,  that  if  the  old  acquaintances  were  to  be  taken 
away  from  Elizabeth  that  in  all  justice  she  must  be  pro- 
vided with  new  ones.  In  fact,  it  did  not  occur  to  them 
at  all  that  her  opinions  were  of  any  value  whatever.  Why 
should  John  explain  his  plans  to  her?  Why,  indeed? 

As  she  went  about  her  Saturday  morning's  work  Eliza- 
beth watched  John  and  his  mother  stroll  down  the  path 
in  the  pasture,  certain  that  she  herself  was  the  subject  of 
their  conversation,  and  her  eyes  burned  with  unshed 
tears.  The  intimacy  between  John  and  his  mother  seemed 
so  much  more  firmly  established  than  the  intimacy  be- 
tween John  and  herself  that  she  was  filled  with  lonesome- 
ness  and  a  longing  for  Aunt  Susan. 

"To-morrow's  Sunday  and  there'll  be  nothing  to  do. 
He'll  have  to  take  me  then.  He  was  tired  and  upset  by 
that  horrid  talk  last  night.  Oh,  why  do  I  have  to  be 
mixed  up  with  things  I  can't  help  —  and  —  and  have  him 
cross,  and  everything?"  She  ended  with  a  little  shud- 
dering cry,  and  buried  her  head  in  the  kitchen  towel  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         233 

gave  up  to  the  tears  which,  now  that  she  was  alone,  she 
could  candidly  shed.  How  she  longed  for  Aunt  Susan, 
and  yet  she  could  not  have  talked  to  her  of  these  things ; 
but  in  spite  of  that  she  wanted  her. 

"Will  you  go  over  to  —  to  Mrs.  Hornby's  with  us  to- 
day?" she  asked  Mrs.  Hunter  at  the  breakfast  table  the 
next  morning. 

"Why  — •  yes  —  if  you're  going,"  Mrs.  Hunter  answered 
with  a  hesitant  glance  at  John. 

The  tone  and  the  hesitancy  struck  Elizabeth.  She 
looked  at  John  as  she  had  seen  the  older  woman  do. 

"Mother  spoke  yesterday  of  your  going,"  John  said 
quickly,  "and  I  said  —  well,  I  want  to  get  some  more 
cleaning  done  about  that  barn  before  the  man  comes. 
There's  plenty  of  time  about  that.  Let  them  come  here 
if  they  want  to  see  us." 

"But  I  want  to  go,"  Elizabeth  persisted.  She  had  been 
accustomed  to  dictating  where  John  Hunter  should  take 
her.  John  himself  had  taught  her  to  do  so. 

"Well,  there's  plenty  of  time.  I'm  busy  to-day,  if  it  is 
Sunday,"  was  all  that  her  husband  thought  it  necessary 
to  reply. 

The  hope  that  Aunt  Susan  would  come  to  see  her  if  she 
found  that  they  were  not  coming  over  helped  Elizabeth 
to  accept  the  brusque  refusal  better  than  she  otherwise 
would  have  done.  John  was  cheerful  and  pleasant,  and 
the  hurt  that  she  had  felt  at  first  died  away.  He  asked 
her  to  go  to  the  barn  with  him  and  was  merry  and  full 


234         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

of  small  talk  and  chatter,  such  as  lovers  appreciate,  and 
the  girl  finally  concluded  that  that  must  be  his  naturally 
decided  manner  when  suddenly  approached  on  a  subject 
to  which  he  could  not  consent.  Elizabeth  was  aware  that 
there  was  little  consideration  shown  her  at  such  times,  but 
was  resolved  not  to  find  fault  unless  the  question  were  a 
vital  one.  Altogether  it  was  a  happy  day.  Gratitude 
was  a  large  feature  of  Elizabeth's  make-up,  and  there  was 
something  about  being  in  the  atmosphere  of  refinement 
and  beauty  which  made  her  accept  many  little  evidences 
of  inattentiveness  on  the  part  of  her  husband.  As  she 
helped  with  the  cooking,  she  was  conscious  of  the  dif- 
ference between  the  kitchen  utensils  of  this  and  her  own 
home;  as  she  swept  she  contrasted  the  red-and-green  in- 
grain carpet  of  the  sitting  room  with  the  worn  and  ugly 
rag  carpet  of  her  mother's  house;  as  she  set  the  table  she 
reflected  that  no  other  house  of  that  community  boasted 
a  dining  room,  and  certainly  no  other  young  wife  could 
say  she  had  napkins  and  a  white  tablecloth  every  day  in 
the  week;  and  there  was  yet  a  larger  item  than  these  for 
which  the  girl  was  thankful:  no  girl  she  had  ever  known 
had  married  so  cultured  a  man.  Elizabeth  looked  across 
the  table  as  she  served  the  pie  at  dinner  and  in  spite  of 
every  snub  was  humbly  thankful  to  be  a  part  of  that 
family.  Nor  was  she  a  mere  snob  and  deserving  of  what 
she  got  in  the  way  of  ill  treatment  because  she  submitted 
to  it;  Elizabeth  was  a  young  girl  of  artistic  temperament, 
craving  beauty,  and  longing  for  the  companionship  of 
those  who  talked  in  terms  comprehensible  to  her  at  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         235 

same  time  that  they  advanced  her  aesthetic  education  and 
possibilities.  In  proportion  as  she  valued  this  thing  was 
she  to  pay  her  price. 

The  price  Elizabeth  was  to  pay  came  at  strange  and 
unexpected  moments.  The  hired  man,  when  he  appeared, 
proved  to  be  Jake  Ransom,  now  a  man,  and  ready  to  do  a 
man's  work  in  his  simple  station.  Jake  of  course  knew 
for  whom  he  was  to  work  and  came  into  the  kitchen  to  his 
first  meal  with  his  face  wreathed  in  a  sheepish  grin. 

"I'd  better  'a'  taken  your  advice  an'  gone  t'  th'  high 
school,"  he  said,  extending  his  calloused  hand  to  shake. 
"Only  I  wouldn't  'a'  been  workin'  fur  you." 

He  laughed  his  great  hearty  guffaw,  partly  in  embarrass- 
ment and  partly  because  he  really  enjoyed  the  joke  of 
the  possibility  of  him  being  an  educated  man.  It  was  a 
cheap  country  pleasantry,  and  said  with  genuine  good- 
fellowship,  but  Mrs.  Hunter,  who  heard  it  as  she  turned 
to  the  dining  room  with  the  coffee  pot  in  her  hand,  dis- 
approved of  the  familiarity  of  it.  Mrs.  Hunter  had  dis- 
approved of  the  plate  laid  for  Jake  at  the  family  table  and 
was  out  of  sorts  with  the  country  life  into  which  she  had 
been  plunged. 

After  Jake  had  gone  to  bed  upstairs  —  and  that  was 
another  grievance  of  Mrs.  Hunter's,  this  having  the  hired 
man  in  the  room  next  to  her  own  —  she  took  up  the  matter 
of  his  position  in  her  son's  house  seriously. 

"All  the  hired  help  in  the  country  eat  at  tne  table  and 
are  accorded  the  privileges  of  any  member  of  the  family, 
mother,"  John  replied  to  her  objections. 


236         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"You  don't  mean  that  you'll  have  to  have  them  at  your 
table  day  after  day  —  always?"  his  mother  exclaimed. 
"You'll  never  have  any  home  life  at  all." 

"As  long  as  we  farm,  mother,  we'll  be  in  exactly 
that  position,"  John  said,  stirring  the  fire  in  the  sit- 
ting-room stove,  about  which  they  were  gathered  for  the 
evening. 

"But  they  eat  so  awfully  much,"  Mrs.  Hunter  con- 
tinued, "and  they  drink  out  of  their  saucers,  and  suck 
their  teeth  till  it  makes  one  sick!"  Then  happening  to 
look  across  at  Elizabeth  she  caught  the  flush  on  her  young 
face  and  stopped  so  short  that  all  were  embarrassed. 

John  got  up  suddenly  and  left  the  room  and  the  house. 
The  two  women  sat  in  an  uncomfortable  silence  for  some 
minutes,  and  then  the  elder  of  them  went  upstairs  to  bed, 
leaving  the  younger  to  her  mortifying  thoughts.  Eliza- 
beth remembered  the  scorn  of  the  young  teacher  in  her 
own  childhood  for  the  same  offence  and  reflected  that  she 
had  been  unable  to  break  her  family  of  similar  habits. 
As  far  as  she  was  concerned,  however,  the  presence  of  the 
hired  man  at  her  table  was  far  less  disturbing  than  that  of 
her  husband's  mother.  Part  of  the  time  she  was  happy 
to  learn  from  Mrs.  Hunter,  but  more  of  the  time  she  was 
restless  under  her  supervision. 

The  week  had  been  an  uncomfortable  one  in  both 
tangible  and  intangible  ways.  Elizabeth  had  often  found 
John  and  his  mother  talking  and  have  them  drop  the 
conversation  when  she  appeared.  She  had  had  many 
humiliating  hours  over  the  disgrace  she  knew  they  were 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         237 

discussing.  The  fact  had  come  out  that  Mr.  Farnshaw 
had  returned  to  his  home,  but  nothing  beyond  that. 

Another  week  passed,  and  again  John  refused  to  take 
Elizabeth  to  see  Aunt  Susan.  This  time  he  said  that  the 
team  had  worked  all  week,  and  that  he  felt  that  the  horses 
needed  rest.  A  new  team  was  added  to  the  farm  assets 
and  the  next  Sunday  John  said  he  was  too  tired  himself 
to  go  away  from  home.  Never  once  did  he  say  that  he 
had  any  motive  which  extended  beyond  the  time  at  hand. 
Each  Sunday  the  excuse  fitted  the  circumstances  of  that 
particular  day,  and  he  talked  of  going  in  a  general  way  as 
if  it  were  a  matter  of  course  that  they  would  go  soon. 
It  was  clearly  the  duty  of  the  young  couple  to  make  the 
first  visit,  and  as  clearly  Nathan  Hornby  and  his  wife  were 
waiting  for  them  to  do  so.  Elizabeth  was  puzzled  by  her 
husband's  refusal.  At  the  end  of  a  month  she  became 
alarmed  for  fear  their  neglect  would  give  offence  to  the 
dear  couple  who  had  sheltered  her  when  she  was  in  need. 
It  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  discredit  John's  reasons, 
though  she  began  to  suspect  that  she  had  married  the  sort 
of  man  she  had  heard  much  about  —  the  husband  who 
never  wanted  to  go  anywhere. 

Early  in  December  Mrs.  Hunter  was  called  East  by  the 
serious  illness  of  a  sister  in  Illinois.  The  day  she  left  a 
heavy  snow  fell.  Elizabeth  went  out  into  the  still  yard 
and  let  the  white  flakes  fall  on  her  uncovered  head  with 
such  a  sense  of  freedom  as  she  had  never  felt  since  her 
marriage. 

"The  house  is  mine,"  she  whispered  ecstatically;  "the 


238         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

house  is  all  mine,  and  now  I  can  go  out  of  doors  if  I  want 
to  and  not  be  criticised." 

Elizabeth  had  been  far  more  accustomed  to  barn  life 
than  the  life  of  the  house.  This  was  a  thing  that  Mrs. 
Hunter  could  not  understand.  It  was  not  the  correct 
thing  for  a  woman  to  go  about  the  barn  where  a  hired  man 
was  employed,  even  if  her  husband  worked  at  his  side,  and 
Elizabeth's  trips  to  the  cow  stable  and  granaries  had  been 
discouraged.  Jake  Ransom  had  been  shrewd  enough  to 
see  that  his.  first  joke  in  the  Hunter  house  had  been  un- 
pleasant to  the  mother  of  his  employer  and  had  never 
trespassed  upon  the  grounds  of  familiarity  again,  but 
Elizabeth  had  been  criticised  until  willing  to  give  up  her 
trips  to  the  scene  of  her  husband's  work.  John  might  be 
impatient,  but  Elizabeth  loved  him;  his  mother  was  patient 
but  critical,  and  Elizabeth  did  not  love  her;  therefore  the 
first  feeling  of  relief  when  the  older  woman  had  gone  away 
included  the  delight  of  being  free  to  go  where  she  wished  — 
at  his  side.  The  barns  were  a  source  of  great  interest  to 
Elizabeth.  The  pride  of  the  girl,  accustomed  to  straw 
stables  and  slatternly  yards  and  unhoused  machinery, 
in  the  well-kept  barnyard  of  her  husband  was  natural 
and  commendatory.  John  had  order  well  developed  in 
his  scheme  of  things.  John's  cribs  did  not  stand  open  to 
the  weather.  Now  that  Mrs.  Hunter  was  away,  Eliza- 
beth spent  most  of  the  day  going  about  the  place,  looking 
into  every  bin,  and  making  the  acquaintance  of  each  new 
animal  they  possessed.  Jake  was  helping  Silas  and  it  left 
the  girl  plenty  of  time  to  explore.  The  amount  of  new 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         239 

stock  struck  her  as  surprising.  Here  too  she  was  glad. 
John  was  evidently  going  to  be  a  man  of  large  affairs. 
Elizabeth  had  a  sudden  desire  to  run  over  and  talk  it  over 
with  Luther  as  she  had  done  when  she  drove  out  with  her 
affianced  husband  to  buy  the  calves.  She  was  surprised 
to  see  how  the  little  bunch  of  calves  had  grown,  not  only 
in  size  but  in  numbers.  The  thought  of  Luther  carried 
her  back,  as  she  stood  looking  over  the  calf  yard,  to  the 
matter  of  visiting  Aunt  Susan.  Of  late  the  feeling  had 
grown  strong  upon  her  that  Mrs.  Hunter  had  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  John's  reluctance  to  making  this  visit. 
The  calves  ceased  to  interest  her  and  she  wandered  slowly 
back  to  the  house  thinking  about  it.  There  were  so  many 
phases  of  her  domestic  affairs  to  consider:  Aunt  Susan's 
right  to  the  evidences  of  her  love  and  her  inability  to  show 
that  love  because  of  her  husband's  reluctance  to  take 
her;  Luther's  evident  offence,  and  the  possibility  that  the 
wedding  invitation  had  not  been  extended  to  him  by  John, 
since  he  had  never  paid  them  a  neighbourly  visit;  the  close 
alliance  between  John  and  his  mother  and  the  brusqueness 
with  which  John  disposed  of  any  request  of  hers  if  he  did 
not  choose  of  himself  to  do  the  thing  she  wanted  —  all 
called  for  examination.  Elizabeth  shook  the  snow  from 
her  hair  and  cloak  and  built  up  the  fire,  intending  to  sit 
down  by  it  and  think  over  her  situation,  but  John  arrived 
in  the  middle  of  her  preparations  and  supper  had  to  be 
hastily  prepared,  for  the  afternoon  had  gone  and  much 
of  the  regular  morning's  work  still  remained  to  be  done. 
With  flying  feet,  Elizabeth  attacked  the  task  of  getting 


24o         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

things  in  order,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  John,  who  had 
left  the  last  chores  to  Jake,  came  in  and  helped  her.  They 
had  hardly  ever  been  left  alone  in  the  house  in  all  the  three 
months  they  had  been  married,  and  to  Elizabeth  it  was 
working  in  fairyland  to  have  John  make  one  side  of  a  bed's 
clothes  lay  smooth  while  she  pulled  and  straightened  at 
the  other. 

With  Mrs.  Hunter  gone,  John  took  up  the  task  of 
drilling  his  young  wife  in  the  Hunter  ways.  To  Elizabeth 
he  was  a  model  husband.  She  contrasted  her  father's 
stupid  inability  and  unwillingness  inside  of  his  home  with 
the  orderly  and  systematic  way  in  which  John  Hunter 
helped  her.  John  took  part  in  whatever  household  func- 
tion was  taking  place  in  his  presence.  He  wiped  the 
dishes  if  she  washed  them;  if  a  carpet  was  to  be  swept  he 
handled  the  broom  if  he  were  there  to  do  it,  and  he  never 
went  to  the  field  without  filling  the  reservoir  and  water 
pail  as  well  as  the  coal  scuttle  and  cob  basket.  He  as- 
sumed the  management  of  cooking  and  housework  so 
subtly  that  the  unsophisticated  girl  saw  only  his  helpful- 
ness; in  fact,  he  had  only  helpfulness  in  mind.  John  had 
ideas  of  neatness  and  order  which  made  of  housekeeping 
a  never-ending  process,  but  John  himself  laboured  steadily 
toward  their  accomplishment,  and  he  was  so  successful  in 
inspiring  her  with  those  same  ideals  that  her  pride  helped 
her  over  many  a  weary  day's  cleaning.  She  entered  into 
them  week  after  week  and  became  expert  at  ironing,  bak- 
ing, and  all  the  little  offices  of  the  domestic  altar.  All 
her  strength  was  given  to  her  work  each  day,  and  for  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         241 

time  she  succeeded  comfortably,  but  as  the  days  shortened 
and  the  routine  became  more  exacting  she  longed  for  the 
out-of-door  freedom  in  which  she  had  been  raised. 

Christmas  passed,  and  still  Elizabeth  had  entered  no 
house  except  her  own  since  her  marriage  in  October.  This 
would  not  have  disturbed  her,  for  she  was  not  a  girl  who 
cared  for  visiting,  if  it  had  not  been  that  Aunt  Susan  was 
being  neglected. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  came  and  did  not  fail  to  let  Elizabeth 
know  that  the  country  gossips  were  concerned  with  tales 
supposed  to  account  for  her  secluded  way  of  living.  Some 
said  that  she  was  too  "stuck-up"  to  associate  with  her  old 
friends,  while  others  said  that  John  Hunter  had  married 
her  to  keep  his  house,  but  that  he  was  not  proud  of  her 
and  preferred  to  leave  her  at  home.  Luther  had  completed 
his  "shanty,"  and  Elizabeth  knew  by  the  smoke  she  could 
see  rising  from  his  chimney  that  he  no  longer  lived  with 
Aunt  Susan;  also  Elizabeth  heard  bits  of  gossip  about  him 
from  Jake,  who  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  Luther  and 
often  spent  his  evenings  with  him.  Luther  Hansen  had 
come  to  borrow  a  scoop  shovel  when  he  had  shelled  his 
corn,  but  John  had  managed  to  accept  it  as  a  barnyard 
call  and  had  not  invited  him  to  the  house,  and  after  the 
scoop  was  returned  Luther  did  not  come  again.  Eliza- 
beth had  days  when  she  wanted  his  cheery  presence  and 
sensible  ways  of  looking  at  life,  but  she  was  almost  glad 
he  did  not  come;  she  could  not  have  explained  her  seclu- 
sion to  him  nor  could  she  have  refused  to  explain.  The 
girl's  pride  was  cut  to  the  quick. 


242         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

January  passed,  and  February.  One  afternoon  in  early 
March  Elizabeth  sat  at  the  dining-room  window  sewing 
and  meditating  sadly  upon  John's  growing  irritability 
whenever  she  mentioned  Aunt  Susan.  She  was  unable  as 
yet  to  force  him  to  take  her  as  she  requested;  neither  had 
she  been  able  to  get  her  own  consent  to  going  the  first  time 
to  the  house  of  this  old  friend  alone  and  have  Aunt  Susan's 
questioning  eyes  looking  her  over  for  explanations.  She 
was  puzzled  still,  for  John  usually  spoke  of  her  friends 
with  respect,  and  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  his  reasons 
for  opposition  except  that  he  was  simply  averse  to  visiting 
on  general  principles,  and  even  then  why  should  he  so 
resolutely  refuse  to  accommodate  her  when  he  was  so 
reasonable  on  all  other  subjects? 

"  I  don't  care,  I'm  going  this  week  if  he's  ever  so  cross," 
she  muttered. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant  she  looked  up  and  saw  a 
bobsled  coming  into  the  side  lane. 

"Aunt  Susan's  very  self!"  she  cried,  pushing  away  the 
little  garment  on  which  she  was  sewing,  and  running  to 
the  door. 

She  met  the  muffled  figure  halfway  down  the  path, 
called  to  Nathan  to  take  his  team  to  the  barn,  where  they 
would  be  out  of  the  cutting  wind,  and  bundled  Susan 
Hornby  into  the  house  with  little  shrieks  of  delight  and 
welcome. 

Susan  Hornby  knew  that  she  was  wanted  at  the  end 
of  that  five  minutes. 

"However  could  you  know  that  I  was  wanting  you  so 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         243 

bad  to-day?"  Elizabeth  said  finally,  as  she  thrust  her 
guest  down  into  a  rocking  chair  and  then  went  down  on 
her  knees  to  unfasten  her  overshoes. 

"Land  sakes!  What  are  you  trying  to  do  —  and 

you "  The  sentence  stopped  and  the  speaker  looked 

embarrassed. 

Elizabeth,  still  on  her  knees,  looked  up.  A  soft  blush 
covered  her  face  as  she  gave  a  happy  little  laugh. 

"Yes  —  it's  true,"  she  whispered.  "Oh,  Aunt  Susan, 
I'm  so  happy!" 

Outside,  Nathan  Hornby  seized  the  opportunity  to  look 
around  the  barns. 

"Good  cattle  sheds,"  he  remarked  to  himself.  "Good 
bunch  of  pigs,  too.  I  hope  'e  ain't  goin'  into  debt,  as  they 
say,  but  I  swan,  it  looks  like  it." 

Nathan's  survey  of  the  barns  had  given  the  two  women 
inside  the  house  time  to  talk  over  the  affair  so  close  to  their 
hearts,  and  the  little  sitting  room  had  been  turned  into  a 
temple  by  the  presence  of  a  young  mother  that  was  to  be 
and  that  older  but  childless  mother  who  loved  her  as  her 
own.  Elizabeth,  still  on  her  knees,  laid  her  head  in  Aunt 
Susan's  lap  as  of  old,  and  Susan  Hornby,  with  every  hurt 
buried,  listened  to  her  confessions,  with  her  free  hand  feel- 
ing its  way  over  the  thick  braids  as  she  prayed  earnestly 
in  her  heart  that  her  beloved  child  would  go  through  the 
travail  awaiting  her  without  harm  and  not  be  left  child- 
less in  her  old  age. 

When  Nathan's  heavy  boot  crunched  on  the  snow- 
covered  doorstep,  Elizabeth  ran  to  meet  him  with  the 


244         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

broom  and  a  whole  world's  wealth  of  welcome  in  voice 
and  manner. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  came  to-day.  I've  been  wanting 
Aunt  Susan  so  of  late.  Isn't  it  a  heavy  snow  for  this  late 
in  the  season?" 

She  rattled  busily  along  to  carry  the  impress  of  welcome, 
for  the  old  man  had  not  responded  to  her  as  his  wife  had 
done. 

"Well,  now,"  said  candid  Nathan,  "you  don't  exactly 
give  one  th'  impression  of  pinin'  t'  see  folks  when  you  never 
come  over  at  all." 

Elizabeth  knew  that  though  he  regarded  the  broom  with 
which  he  brushed  at  his  boots  with  extra  attention,  he  was 
listening  closely  for  her  answer. 

"There's  John!"  she  cried,  seeing  her  husband  as  he 
drove  a  bunch  of  calves  into  the  lane.  She  hastened  to  tell 
her  guest  that  her  husband  had  been  some  miles  to  the 
west  to  attend  a  sale,  and  pretended  to  have  forgotten 
Nathan's  awkward  remark. 

She  was  glad  to  see  that  John  left  Jake  to  turn  the 
calves  into  the  yards  and  came  to  the  house  at  once,  with 
cordiality  shining  out  of  every  line  of  his  face.  He  made 
Nathan  Hornby  so  welcome  that  every  sign  of  displeasure 
faded  from  Nathan's  countenance.  He  gave  a  hasty  brush 
at  his  boots  and  came  in  to  shake  hands  with  Susan  Horn- 
by. He  stirred  the  fire  briskly,  and  remarked  to  Nathan : 

"Ain't  that  a  dandy  bunch  of  calves?  I  had  a  chance 
to  get  them  at  that  Irishman's  sale  —  I  forget  his  name 
—  oh,  yes,  Tim  —  Tim  —  you  know?  I  ought  to  know 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         245 

myself  since  I  just  signed  a  note  to  him.  Averaged 
eighteen  dollars  a  head  —  forty-three  of  'em.  With  corn 
at  thirty  cents,  they'll  turn  quick  money." 

The  fire  roared  under  his  vigorous  poking,  and  he  ap- 
plied himself  to  putting  more  coal  in  the  stove  without 
looking  up. 

Elizabeth  Hunter's  face  lost  the  happy  expression  with 
which  she  had  been  regarding  him  as  he  welcomed  the 
old  couple  and  stirred  the  fire,  presumably  for  their  bene- 
fit. He  had  been  glad  to  see  them:  they  had  helped  him 
over  an  awkward  announcement.  He  had  not  told  her 
he  meant  to  get  these  cattle,  and  he  had  let  her  think  that 
he  meant  to  take  her  advice  and  not  go  into  debt  any  more 
than  he  had  already  done. 

John  Hunter  heard  his  wife's  low  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise. He  was  glad  it  was  over. 

Susan  Hornby  heard  it  too  and  caught  the  sick  look  on 
her  face,  but  though  she  wondered  about  it  she  asked  no 
questions,  for  Elizabeth  Hunter  was  a  woman  of  reserve. 
Elizabeth  Hunter  had  developed  a  power  unknown  to 
Elizabeth  Farnshaw. 

"Got  a  good  many  sheds  built  a'ready,  I  see,"  was  the 
next  remark  the  girl  heard. 

"Yes,"  John  replied,  still  devoting  himself  to  the  fire. 
"I  expected  to  get  the  stock  sooner  —  haven't  used  it  all 
this  year  —  but  it's  there  for  next  season.  I've  got  about 
all  the  cattle  I'll  get  now.  I  told  Carter  I'd  take  seven- 
teen head  of  his.  He  was  going  to  put  them  up  at  his  sale 
next  week,  but  I  persuaded  him  to  let  me  have  them  in  a 


246         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

bunch.  I'll  get  them  home  to-morrow.  Got  'em  on  6 
per  cent.  They'll  grow  into  money  every  day  this  summer 
-  mostly  two-year-olds.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"That's  all  owin',"  Nathan  replied  slowly.  "Cattle 
take  a  lot  of  cover,  an'  you  ain't  usin'  straw  sheds." 

"Oh,  my  sheds  ain't  cost  so  very  much,"  John  replied 
easily.  "They're  substantial  too.  I  don't  think  much 
of  the  straw-shed  business.  It'll  do  for  Hansen,  now,  that 
ain't  got  anything  to  put  under  cover,  but  when  a  man's 

got  anything "  John  filled  out  the  sentence  with  an 

expressive  gesture,  and  then  before  any  one  could  speak 
said  casually:  "By  the  way,  I  hear  the  Swede's  going  to 
be  married  to-morrow." 

" Married  ? "  Elizabeth  Hunter  exclaimed.  Every  word 
of  the  conversation  had  been  a  stab,  but  to  have  Luther 
called  a  Swede  was  too  much. 

"Yes,  dear,"  Aunt  Susan  said,  laying  a  hand  on  her 
arm.  "I  meant  to  have  told  you  and  I  hadn't  got  to  it 
yet.  Nate  and  I  are  invited  to  the  wedding.  It's  Sadie 
Crane,  you  know." 

E'izabeth  fell  into  the  nearest  chair  utterly  limp. 
"Sadie  Crane?"  she  said  over  and  over. 

"I  knew  you'd  hate  to  have  it  Sadie,  but  any  woman 
could  be  glad  to  get  a  man  as  good  as  Luther,  and  she's 
crazy  over  him.  He'll  make  her  a  good  husband  whether 
she  makes  a  good  wife  or  not.  She'll  have  her  own  way 
a  good  deal  further  than  most  wives." 

John  Hunter  suspected  that  the  latter  was  said  for  his 
benefit. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         247 

Nathan  and  Susan  Hornby  disagreed,  as  much  as  it  was 
possible  for  them  to  do,  on  the  way  home. 

"You  may  say  what  you  please,  if  she  don't  come  it's 
because  she  don't  want  to.  You  couldn't  ask  for  a  more 
rousin'  welcome  'n  he  give  us,"  Nathan  said  as  he  watched 
the  forefoot  on  the  off  horse  to  see  whether  it  was  a  cake 
of  snow  that  made  it  limp  or  a  more  serious  trouble. 

"It  wasn't  any  more  rousing  than  hers  was  when  I 
went  in  and  —  and  look  how  he  spoke  of  Luther,"  Susan 
replied  hesitatingly.  She  hardly  dare  point  out  the  weak- 
ness of  John,  however  angry  she  was  at  him,  for  she  had 
had  trouble  enough  to  get  Nathan  to  bring  her  at  all. 

"That's  so,"  Nathan  admitted.  "They're  a  pair  of 
snobs,  anyhow.  You  think  she  treats  you  all  right,  but 
you  saw  how  she  shied  round  th'  subject  when  I  put 
it  straight  to  'er.  I  went  because  you  wanted  me  to 

—  but  I  ain't  sure "  Nathan  Hornby  ceased  to 

speak  before  his  sentence  was  finished.  Elizabeth's  neglect 
had  been  another  nail  in  the  coffin  of  his  friendly  trust. 
Susan  had  had  hard  work  to  persuade  him  to  bring  her 
to-day  and  had  hoped  that  some  lucky  circumstance 
would  help  to  dispel  his  suspicions.  This  had  looked 
possible  at  first,  but  she  saw  that  he  still  nursed  his 
grievances. 

Susan  had  her  suspicions  also,  but  they  were  of  John, 
not  of  Elizabeth.  Elizabeth  had  been  as  glad  to  see  her 
as  she  had  always  been,  whatever  there  might  have  been 
that  was  unexplainable  on  the  surface.  Susan  Hornby 
knew  with  a  knowledge  that  was  unassailable  that  Eliza- 


248         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

beth  Hunter  loved  her  as  much  as  Elizabeth  Farnshaw 
had  done. 

"I  don't  care,  I'm  going  again  some  day  before  long," 
she  said;  "she  won't  be  going  out  much  now  for  a  while." 

"Well,  now,  look  here,"  Nathan  said,  stubbornly  stick- 
ing to  a  conviction  from  which  he  was  unable  to  get  away. 
"You  think  Hunter  keeps  her  from  coming.  He  give  us 
more  of  a  welcome  'n  she  did,  a  good  sight." 

Susan  Hornby  glanced  around  at  her  husband  in  aston- 
ishment. She  had  never  said  that  she  thought  Elizabeth 
was  prevented  by  John  from  coming  to  see  them.  Nathan 
had  measured  her  better  than  she  had  realized. 

"No-o,  he  didn't,"  she  replied  slowly.  She  resolved  to 
speak  frankly.  "You  didn't  see  her  when  she  took  me 
into  the  house.  Honestly,  Nate,  it  was  better  than 
a  whole  revival  service  to  have  that  girl  tell  me  of  — 
of ' 

"I  didn't  see  that,"  Nathan  interrupted,  "I  only  know 
he  was  glad  t'  see  us;  you  saw  that  for  yourself." 

"I  was  just  going  to  say "  Susan  considered  a 

moment  and  then  said  firmly:  "He  was  glad  to  see  us 
because  there  was  something  about  those  cattle  he  hadn't 
told  her.  Didn't  you  see  the  look  on  her  face?" 

'That  wouldn't  make  no  difference  with  th'  way  he'd 
do  by  us.  'E  was  as  glad  as  could  be,  an'  asked  you  t' 
come  back  's  if  you'd  been  'is  mother.  It's  some  stuck- 
up  notion  of  hers  —  this  thing  of  them  not  visitin'  their 
neighbours." 

Susan  looked  up  at  him  indulgently. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         249 

"You  won't  refuse  to  be  good  friends  with  her  —  for 
my  sake.  Nate.  She  was  as  glad  to  see  me  as  a  little 
child." 

"Why  aon't  she  come  t'  see  you  then?"  Nathan  asked 
sternly,  able  only  to  see  the  one  point. 

"I  don't  exactly  know,  Nate.  I  couldn't  crowd  her 
on  that  matter  —  she  looked  so  worried  when  I  brought 
it  up  that  I  just  let  it  go.  I  only  know  she  wants  to 
come." 

They  dropped  the  subject  and  rode  along  over  the 
smooth  road,  too  absorbed  in  their  own  thoughts  to  get 
pleasure  out  of  this  last  sleighride  of  the  season,  both  en- 
deavoring to  solve  the  problem  from  their  own  viewpoint, 
Nathan  full  of  distrust  and  suspicion,  his  wife  too  well 
versed  in  human  nature  to  doubt  Elizabeth's  honesty  or 
believe  that  she  was  spoiled  by  a  fine  home  or  an  advanced 
social  position.  At  last  she  spoke  her  conclusions: 

"There's  something  in  her  face  I  like  better'n  ever,  but 
there's  a  worried  something  there  I  don't  like  to  see." 

Nathan  was  sorry  he  had  criticised  Elizabeth.  Sue 
loved  the  girl.  Nathan  and  Susan  discussed,  but  never 
argued.  If  Susan  remained  of  her  first  opinion  after  talk- 
ing a  thing  over,  Nathan  conceded  within  himself  that  she 
had  some  good  reason  for  her  convictions  even  where  he 
could  not  agree. 

"Sue'll  have  t'  see  it  for  herself,"  he  meditated.  "I'd 
be  glad  t'  see  'er  right.  We'll  see  how  it  turns  out."  But 
as  he  tried  to  get  himself  into  that  frame  of  mind  he  re- 
membered how  many  days  had  been  spoiled  for  his  wife 


250        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  winter  because  she  longed  for  Elizabeth,   and  he 
involuntarily  muttered : 

"Dirty  little  huzzy!"  and  ground  his  straggling  teeth 
as  he  thought  of  it. 

After  Nathan  and  Susan  Hornby  had  turned  into  the 
main  road,  John  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house. 

"What'd  I  say  that  Mrs.  Hornby  didn't  like?"  he  asked, 
as  he  entered  the  kitchen  where  Elizabeth  was  preparing 
the  supper  which  Nathan  had  declined  to  stay  and  eat. 

Elizabeth's  brow  was  drawn  into  a  puckered  wrinkle. 
She  followed  her  own  laborious  thinking,  unaware  that 
her  husband  had  spoken. 

"What'd  I  say  that  riled  Mrs.  Hornby?"  he  repeated. 

Elizabeth  heard  the  question  now  and  looked  up.  It 
was  hard  to  answer.  To  mention  the  tone  in  which  he 
had  spoken  of  Luther  was  useless  she  knew.  Her  hesi- 
tancy annoyed  her  husband. 

"Well,  what's  wrong?" 

"Nothing  —  that  is "  Elizabeth  could  not  dis- 
cuss it. 

John  Hunter  resented  her  silence.  He  turned  without 
speaking  and  picked  up  the  water  pail  quickly.  John 
heaped  coals  of  fire  by  performing  household  duties. 

Reflecting  that  he  was  going  to  be  angry  whether  she 
talked  out  or  not,  Elizabeth  laid  a  detaining  hand  on  his 
arm  and  spoke  of  what  she  felt  she  could  get  his  attention 
fixed  upon. 

"I  was  thinking  of  all  that  money  we're  going  to  have 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         251 

to  pay  some  day,  John.  I  —  I've  tried  before  to  make 
you  understand  me.  Oh,  John,  dear,  don't  you  see  —  but 
then,  no,  of  course  you  don't,  you've  never  had  the  ex- 
perience of  it.  You  see,  dear,  I've  had  it.  It  takes  the 
heart  out  of  people.  You  never  get  rid  of  it  after  you 
get  into  it  once.  You  just  go  on,  you  get  old  and  quarrel- 
some —  and  —  and  you  never  have  any  good  times  be- 
cause you're  afraid  of  something  — •  of  the  interest  that's 
got  to  be  met,  and  things.  Why  won't  you  let  me  help 
you  ?  You  didn't  tell  me  about  these  last  cattle,  nor  the 
Carter  lot.  Why " 

"Now  look  here,  Elizabeth,  a  man  can't  run  to  the 
house  and  consult  a  woman  about  every  little  thing  he 
does,  before  he  does  it.  I  always  tell  you  when  I  can.  I 
told  you  about  this." 

Irritability  was  John  Hunter's  strongest  weapon. 

*''!  don't  want  you  to  run  to  the  house  to  tell  me  about 
every  little  thing  you  do,"  the  young  wife  explained 
patiently,  "but  these  debts  will  not  be  little  things  when 
they  come  to  be  paid  off,  dear.  Really,  you  don't  know 
how  they  will  sap  you  and  me  later  on;  they  may  even 
take  the  farm  right  out  from  under  our  feet.  There  are 
so  many  things  that  can  happen  to  cattle  —  and  interest 
has  to  be  paid.  That's  the  awful  part  of  it,  and " 

John  fidgeted  uneasily  and  did  not  look  at  her.  He 
wanted  to  get  away.  He  had  not  come  in  to  talk  of  this. 
Elizabeth  held  his  sleeve  and  he  had  to  say  something. 

"I  haven't  failed  to  get  what  you  need  out  of  this 
money,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  can't  have  you  shutting  out 


252         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

opportunities  for  business.  I'll  raise  the  interest.  If  I 
furnish  the  money  I  ought  to  be  free  to  make  a  living  the 
best  way  I  see  how.  What  do  you  know  about  a  man's 
business?" 

Desiring  only  to  convince  him,  which  she  could  not  do 
if  he  were  irritated,  Elizabeth  laid  her  paring  knife  on  the 
kitchen  table  and  put  her  arm  about  her  husband's  neck 
coaxingly. 

"Of  course  you  get  everything  I  need,  dear;  that  isn't 
the  trouble.  I  don't  want  to  shut  out  opportunities  for 
business  either,  but  I  gave  up  my  education  to  help  pay 
interest.  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  raise.  The  calves  die, 
and  the  cows  don't  give  milk  enough  to  make  up  the  dif- 
ference. The  loss Oh,  I  know,"  she  said  putting 

her  hand  affectionately  over  his  mouth  to  still  the  objec- 
tion he  had  started  to  offer.  "You  think  beef  cattle  will 
be  different,  but  black-leg  gets  into  a  herd  of  beef  cattle 
just  as  readily  as  into  the  cows  and  calves,  and  frosted 
corn  is  a  liability  Kansas  farmers  always  have  hanging 
over  a  crop.  I'm  not  complaining  about  the  cattle  that 
are  paid  for  —  it's  those  we'd  have  to  pay  for  that  were 
dead.  The  money  was  yours  and  you  had  a  right  to  spend 
it  as  you  chose,  but  the  debts  will  be  ours.  The  skimping 
and  saving  will  fall  on  me  as  much  as  on  you,  and  skimp- 
ing makes  people  mean  and  penurious.  Promise  me  you 
won't  go  into  debt  without  telling  me  again." 

"Forget  it,  little  woman,"  John  replied,  patting  her 
face  and  kissing  it  many  times.  "I'll  never  do  anything 
to  disgrace  you." 


253 

He  had  not  replied  to  a  single  argument;  he  had  not 
made  a  single  promise.  Elizabeth  submitted  to  his 
caresses  with  a  sigh.  It  was  useless.  She  could  not  fall 
out  with  him  for  the  sake  of  the  child  that  was  coming. 
She  resolved  to  accept  what  she  could  get  and  try  to  be 
patient. 

"  I'm  glad  you  were  so  nice  to  Aunt  Susan,"  she  said, 
trying  to  get  away  from  the  impossible  and  make  as  much 
as  she  could  out  of  the  possible.  "We'll  go  over  Sunday. 
I'd  begun  to  think  you'd  never  do  it.  We'll  take  them 
by  surprise." 

John  Hunter  laughed  indulgently.  "You  thinK  you 
got  me  that  time,"  he  said,  and  escaped  to  the  well  with- 
out further  remark. 

Elizabeth  looked  after  him,  and  pondered,  with  a  quiv- 
ering lip,  on  the  wilfulness  of  the  refusal  to  promise.  She 
had  been  so  sure  that  she  was  escaping  the  hell  of  mort- 
gages and  interest  when  she  married.  The  farm  was 
already  carrying  every  cent  the  loan  companies  would 
give  on  first  papers.  If  anything  should  happen  to  the 
stock  they  would  have  to  put  a  second  mortgage  on  part 
of  it.  John  was  determined  to  work  on  a  large  scale. 
She  had  tried  many  times  to  show  him  how  hard  it  would 
be  to  raise  large  incumbrances,  but  whenever  she  did  so 
he  became  fretful  and  for  days  spoiled  the  home  comfort 
for  which  she  strove.  Elizabeth  tried  to  model  their 
home  life  after  that  of  Aunt  Susan,  and  leave  her  husband 
free  to  use  his  own  judgment,  but  this  matter  of  indebted- 
ness was  alarming.  She  knew  how  slowly  money  came  in 


254         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

on  the  farm  and  how  impossible  it  was  to  raise  a  mortgage 
once  it  was  plastered  over  a  piece  of  land.  Already  she 
saw  the  day  of  payments,  note-renewals,  and  chattel 
mortgages  staring  them  in  the  face.  Elizabeth's  pride 
had  suffered  a  fall.  She  saw  the  weary  years  stretch 
ahead  of  them  without  joy  and  without  hope  other  than 
that  which  those  about  them  had,  unless  some  special 
providence  assisted  them  to  avoid  the  common  lot  of 
farmers.  As  she  went  about  her  table-setting,  however, 
the  quality  of  the  linen,  of  the  dishes,  of  every  object  in 
the  room  differed  from  anything  she  had  ever  known,  and 
the  hope  of  youth  came  to  her  aid.  This  home  should  be 
different  from  the  rest;  she  would  make  it  so  by  patience 
as  well  as  by  its  possessions.  The  black-leg  was  not  an 
immediate  danger,  and  she  would  look  for  the  best. 

Winter  passed,  and  spring.  The  patience  Elizabeth  had 
vowed  to  command  had  been  tried  to  the  utmost  in  some 
particulars.  John  had  never  taken  her  to  see  Aunt  Susan. 
Sometimes  he  said  "wait  till  next  week,"  sometimes  he 
said  he  was  tired,  more  often  he  retired  into  his  accus- 
tomed irritability,  and  at  last  because  of  the  evidences  of 
her  pregnant  state  she  ceased  to  desire  it.  The  winter 
had  not  been  totally  unpleasant.  If  she  did  not  irritate 
her  husband  they  were  very  happy  together.  John  had 
pleasant  little  ways  about  the  house  and  was  as  helpful  as 
the  most  exacting  woman  could  demand.  The  spring 
had  been  harder  because  Elizabeth  had  less  strength  and 
the  house  and  garden  work  had  increased.  It  took  three 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        255 

hired  men  to  keep  the  farm  work  done,  and  there  were 
many  mouths  to  fill. 

One  particularly  hot  day  in  June  John  unloaded  on  the 
kitchen  table  an  armful  of  groceries  he  had  just  brought 
from  town,  remarking  as  he  did  so: 

"I  brought  home  some  dried  blackberries  for  pies, 
Elizabeth." 

Hepsie  Brown,  the  lately  acquired  hired  girl,  stood  at 
Elizabeth's  elbow,  and  began  to  put  the  parcels  away  in 
the  cupboard. 

Elizabeth  took  a  couple  of  letters  he  was  handing  her 
and  went  into  the  sitting  room  to  read  them.  John  fol- 
lowed her  in. 

"Be  sure  you  make  the  pies,"  he  said  with  an  emphasis 
which  showed  he  meant  to  have  it  remembered. 

"All  right,  dear." 

"You'd  better  cook  the  fruit  to-night,"  he  added. 

"All  right.     I'll  tell  Hepsie." 

"Better  do  it  yourself,"  he  cautioned. 

"She  can  do  it.  I'll  tell  her,"  Elizabeth  said  without 
looking  up,  but  she  knew  that  that  would  not  end  the 
discussion  the  moment  it  was  out  of  her  mouth.  She 
recognized  John's  most  unpleasant  insisting  mood. 

"Mother  always  tends  to  her  own  pie-baking.  Girls 
never  get  things  right,"  he  said  emphatically,  waiting  for 
her  to  raise  her  eyes  to  his. 

"Yes,  yes,  dear,"  the  girl  answered,  looking  up  as  he 
required.  "She  can  do  it  just  as  well  as  I  can;  it  don't 
hurt  her  to  stand  on  her  feet." 


256         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

She  had  given  the  sign  of  submission  and  he  was  ready 
to  be  pleasant  about  it,  but  he  reiterated  the  demand. 

"I  know,  dear,"  he  said,  kissing  her,  "but  I  can't  bear 
to  have  things  coming  on  the  table  not  right  when  we  have 
men  about.  It  don't  take  long  to  make  a  few  pies." 

Elizabeth  rose  wearily,  put  the  letters  down  and  went 
to  the  kitchen.  Her  face  was  drawn  and  there  was  a 
fagged,  weary  droop  to  the  shoulders.  John  demanded 
that  the  house  and  cooking  be  kept  up  to  the  city  stand- 
ard, forgetting  that  there  was  a  garden  to  keep  in  order 
also,  besides  little  chickens  to  feed  and  butter  to  be  made. 
If  Elizabeth  had  said  she  were  sick  and  had  gone  to  bed, 
John  would  have  had  the  doctor  come  to  see  her  twice  as 
often  as  necessary,  and  would  have  exhausted  the  little 
town  of  Colebyville  to  supply  such  things  as  she  could  eat, 
but  it  never  occurred  to  John  Hunter  that  as  long  as  his 
wife  was  able  to  go  about  the  house  that  she  might  know 
what  she  should  do  much  better  than  he. 

Elizabeth  was  unable  to  defend  herself.  She  coveted 
peace,  and  she  could  not  have  peace  unless  she  responded 
to  John's  suggestions.  Also,  at  this  time  Elizabeth  was 
determined  that  she  would  not  be  cross.  The  coming 
child  absorbed  her  mind  as  much  as  it  absorbed  her  body. 
She  would  not  let  one  hour  of  discord  or  inharmony  affect 
its  life.  Elizabeth  had  no  idea  how  to  manage  her  hus- 
band so  as  to  get  him  even  to  listen  to  her  side  of  an 
argument.  The  girl  was  worn  out  by  useless  things  which 
she  could  not  avoid  doing. 

Elizabeth  was  extremely  nervous  at  this  period  of  her 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         257 

life.  John  went  to  bed  full  of  healthy  fatigue  and  slept 
soundly  till  morning,  and  knew  nothing  of  mental  and 
physical  strains  which  left  his  wife  more  tired  in  the  morn- 
ing than  when  she  went  to  bed  at  night.  Elizabeth  had 
been  a  strong  girl,  but  she  was  supporting  the  life  of 
another;  she  tossed  and  moaned  through  the  two  or  three 
short  hours  in  which  she  could  sleep,  and  for  the  rest  lay 
wide-eyed,  staring  into  the  darkness,  filled  with  terror  at 
what  the  rapidly  approaching  future  held  for  her.  In  her 
girlish  imaginings  and  fears,  ignorant  of  the  facts  a  young 
mother  should  have  known,  she  had  magnified  the  suffer- 
ings of  childbirth  till  life  was  a  network  of  horrors,  and 
her  nerves  were  at  the  breaking  point. 

The  next  morning  Elizabeth,  with  aching  back  and 
trembling  knees,  her  face  flushed  from  the  heat  of  the 
stove,  stood  at  the  kitchen  table  rolling  out  the  pie  crust. 
A  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek.  Hepsie,  who  stood  near 
and  was  regarding  her  sympathetically,  laid  firm  hold  on 
the  rolling-pin. 

"  I  knew  you'd  no  business  t'  do  it.  Now  you  go  in  an* 
set  down  in  th'  rockin'  chair  while  I  finish  this  here  batch 
of  pies." 

Hepsie  was  older  than  Elizabeth  and  making  pies  had 
been  her  business;  the  crust  was  mixed  and  the  fruit  had 
been  cooked  the  night  before.  Reflecting  that  not  much 
could  happen  to  a  pie  after  getting  that  far  on  the  road 
to  perfection,  Elizabeth  let  the  rolling-pin  be  taken  from 
her  hand  and  went  in  wearily  to  throw  herself  on  the 
lounge  to  rest. 


258         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

John  came  into  the  kitchen  and  his  face  darkened. 

"Tell  Mrs.  Hunter  that  I  look  for  Hansen  to  help  with 
the  grain  to-day,  and  that  I  told  him  to  bring  his  wife 
with  him,"  he  said  to  Hepsie,  and  went  out,  banging  the 
door  after  him. 

Elizabeth  had  heard  him  come  in  and  had  risen  to  ex- 
plain, but  stopped  short  when  she  heard  that  Luther  had 
been  asked  to  help.  Her  first  feeling  was  of  a  joy  which 
brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  John  had  been  persistently 
cool  whenever  Luther  had  been  mentioned  since  their 
marriage.  The  next  feeling  of  which  she  was  conscious 
was  an  intense  distaste  to  having  Sadie  in  the  house  with 
her  all  day,  and  this  was  followed  by  the  thought  that 
John  had  known  that  Luther  and  Sadie  were  coming  since 
the  day  before  and  had  said  nothing  about  it  to  her;  but 
small  time  was  given  her  to  think  about  any  phase  of  the 
matter,  for  Luther's  familiar,  unpainted  wagon  was  at 
that  very  moment  coming  into  the  side  lane.  With  a 
conviction  that  she  had  not  been  told  till  it  was  absolutely 
necessary,  Elizabeth  walked  promptly  out  to  meet  her 
young  neighbours. 

It  was  the  old  Luther  which  greeted  her. 

"You  know  my  wife,  Lizzie,"  he  said  with  such  a  happy 
look  in  Sadie's  direction  that  Elizabeth's  heart  responded 
to  the  call  for  open  friendship.  Luther  never  nursed 
suspicion. 

"I  should  just  say  I  did,"  Elizabeth  replied  warmly, 
extending  her  hand  to  the  little  woman  Luther  was  set- 
ting on  her  feet.  Luther  climbed  promptly  into  the  high 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         259 

seat  from  which  he  had  just  lifted  his  wife  and  held  his 
own  hand  down  to  Elizabeth  from  there. 

"It  was  mighty  fine  for  you  to  send  word  for  her  t* 
come  along." 

And  Elizabeth  did  not  let  him  gather  from  any  hint  of 
expression  or  word  that  so  far  from  sending  word  for 
Sadie  to  spend  the  day  with  her,  she  had  not  known  till 
in  these  last  ten  minutes  that  either  of  them  was  ex- 
pected. John  came  and  talked  to  Luther,  mounting  the 
spring-seat  at  his  side  to  ride  to  the  field,  but  did  not  look 
at  Elizabeth,  though  she  looked  at  him  longingly  and 
everything  in  her  cried  out  for  reconciliation  and  openness. 
John  had  a  way  of  ignoring  her  when  explanations  had  to 
be  made. 

Luther's  attitude  toward  his  wife  had  influenced  Eliza- 
beth in  Sadie's  favour  as  nothing  else  had  ever  been  able 
to  do.  She  began  to  feel  less  hostile,  and  as  they  turned 
toward  the  house  asked  her  interestedly  how  she  was 
"coming  on"  with  her  garden  and  chickens.  This  was 
common  ground,  and  Sadie  warmed  to  the  real  welcome 
she  was  accorded.  She  stopped  beside  Elizabeth's  coops 
in  the  backyard  and  examined  the  little  groups  of  begging, 
downy  balls  with  the  animation  of  a  true  farmer's  wife. 
Here  was  something  she  knew  as  well  as  Elizabeth;  in  fact, 
when  a  count  was  made  it  was  discovered  that  Sadie's 
broods  several  times  outnumbered  those  of  the  neighbour 
she  envied.  It  was  an  absorbing  topic  of  conversa- 
tion, and  the  two  women  stood  for  some  moments  with 
the  hungry  little  beggars  clamouring  lustily  about  them. 


260         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Suddenly  they  became  conscious  of  the  smell  of  burning 
sugar. 

"Oh,  my  goodness!"  Elizabeth  exclaimed,  and  ran  to 
the  kitchen,  leaving  her  guest  to  follow  as  she  chose. 

Hepsie  had  gone  upstairs,  and  as  Elizabeth  opened  the 
oven  door  a  cloud  of  smoke  rolled  out  which  nearly 
blinded  her  and  set  her  to  coughing. 

Sadie  followed  her  in  and  somehow  her  mood  changed 
as  she  looked  over  the  well-kept  kitchen.  Something  in 
the  tidy  order  and  tasty  arrangement  of  its  shelves  hurt. 
Sadie  was  not  a  natural  housekeeper. 

"Bet  she  just  thinks  she  beat  us  all,"  she  thought  as 
she  laid  her  bonnet  on  the  sitting-room  sofa,  where  she 
had  felt  of  the  pillows,  and  the  lambrequin  which  hung 
from  the  long  shelf  where  the  clock  and  vases  stood,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  "Bet  she  don't  put  on  no 
airs  about  me  just  the  same."  She  looked  at  the  small 
bookcase  below  the  mantel  in  a  perfect  rage  of  envy. 
Elizabeth  was  surrounded  by  the  things  which  befitted 
Elizabeth,  and  Sadie  realized  as  she  had  never  done  in 
their  childhood  the  chasm  which  separated  them,  and 
knew  nothing  of  the  anguish  of  the  young  wife  as  she 
laboured  with  the  disfigured  pies,  nor  that  Elizabeth 
thought  of  the  look  of  love  she  had  seen  Sadie  receive 
with  something  very  like  envy  in  her  heart. 

Elizabeth  thought  long  upon  the  joy  in  Luther's  face  as 
he  greeted  her.  John  must  have  made  some  move  about 
the  request  for  help  which  covered  the  neglect  of  all  these 
months  adequately  to  Luther.  Sadie  finished  her  inspec- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         261 

tion  of  the  inner  regions  and  returned  to  the  kitchen 
primed  with  things  to  be  said  to  her  rival,  and  Elizabeth 
fared  badly  at  her  hands.  Her  innate  refinement  would 
not  let  Elizabeth  strike  back  in  the  coarse  way  in  which 
she  was  attacked,  and  she  listened  to  hints  and  pretended 
sympathy  on  the  subject  of  Farnshaw  domestic  difficulties, 
of  reported  debts  which  John  Hunter  had  contracted,  and 
neighbourhood  estimates  of  the  fact  of  her  own  secluded 
manner  of  life  since  her  marriage,  till  her  head  swam  and 
her  memory  was  scorched  for  many  a  day.  But  though 
her  head  ached  and  her  knees  almost  refused  to  perform 
their  office,  Elizabeth  remained  in  the  kitchen  and  super- 
intended every  dish  prepared  for  that  harvest  dinner. 
The  fact  that  the  pies  had  scorched  left  her  with  the  feel- 
ing that  John  had  had  a  foundation  of  real  fact  for  his 
demand  that  she  give  them  her  personal  attention,  and 
left  her  humbled  and  ready  to  beg  forgiveness.  Every 
fibre  of  her  cried  out  for  the  trust  she  had  seen  in  Luther's 
glance  at  Sadie.  There  was  true  marriage,  and  the  state 
which  she  laboured  daily  to  establish. 

At  dinner  John  did  not  look  at  Elizabeth,  though  her 
eyes  sought  his  constantly,  and  when  the  pie  was  passed 
around  she  remarked  on  its  trimmed  edges  shame- 
facedly. 

Silas  Chamberlain  wiped  his  knife  on  a  piece  of  bread 
and  slid  it  under  the  section  nearest  him. 

"You  never  mind  about  them  edges.  It  looks  like  a 
good  pie  t'  me,  an'  John  here  will  eat  his  share  of  it,  I'll 
warrant  you.  Th'  rest  of  this  company  can  survive  if  he 


262         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

does.  I  just  been  a  thinkin'  as  I  set  here  what  a  stunnin* 
cook  youVe  got  t'  be  in  these  ten  months.  I  used  t'  think 
you'd  have  a  lot  t'  learn  after  you  was  married,  but  you 
seem  t'  'a'  learned  it  short  off  —  eh,  John?" 

John  Hunter  had  to  reply.  "I've  been  sorry  mother 
had  to  go  away.  Elizabeth's  done  pretty  well,  but  mother 
would  have  been  a  great  help,  with  her  fixed  ways  of  doing 
things,"  he  said  reluctantly. 

Luther  had  been  looking  earnestly  at  John,  but  spared 
Elizabeth  when  he  saw  her  confusion  by  looking  quickly 
down  at  his  plate  and  saying  nothing. 

"Don't  know  's  Lizzie  needs  any  help  as  far  as  doin' 
things  is  concerned,  though  she  may  need  more  rest," 
Silas  returned;  and  Sadie  took  up  the  subject. 

"I  think  my  stove  bakes  a  little  better  on  the  bottom," 
she  remarked  critically. 

"I  low  t'  taste  your  pies  to-morrow  if  it  don't  rain," 
Silas  answered  her  without  looking  up  from  the  bite  he  was 
severing  with  the  knife  upon  which  it  was  to  be  conveyed 
to  his  mouth. 

Luther  Hansen's  laugh  rang  out  heartily. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  winking  at  Sadie.  "She'll  be  keep- 
in'  me  out  of  th'  field  t'  fire  th'  oven." 

The  sting  of  the  criticism  was  drawn  by  Luther's  merry 
acceptation  of  it.  Sadie  laughed  too,  but  the  hint  left  its 
rankling  point.  These  same  men  would  harvest  for  them 
on  the  morrow,  and  as  Sadie  looked  over  Elizabeth  Hun- 
ter's well  set  table  she  knew  that  she  would  not  have  the 
advantage  on  her  side. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         263 

"Lizzie's  always  had  th'  best  of  everything,"  she 
thought. 

Silas  Chamberlain  thought  over  the  day's  events  as  he 
rode  slowly  home.  While  unhitching,  Old  Queen  nipped 
angrily  at  Bob,  who  had  sniffed  at  her  collar  pad,  and 
Silas  cuffed  her  ears. 

"Whoa,  there,  you  spiteful  beast!  You'll  be  wantin' 
pie  that's  a  leetle  better  done  on  th'  under  crust  next. 
Drat  'er!  I  could  'a'  fit  right  there,  only  —  well  you  kin 
allus  hit  harder  with  that  kind  of  folks  if  you  don't  let 
yourself  git  riled.  Pore  little  woman !  Not  little,  neither 
—  but  a  year  ago  so  young  an'  glowin'  with  happiness. 
Used  t'  make  me  think  of  a  bob-white,  trottin'  up  an  down 
these  roads  s'  contented  like,  an'  allus  so  friendly  an' 
sociable.  Looks  's  if  she  didn't  have  spirits  enough  t' 
laugh  at  nothin'  these  days.  Looks  's  if  she'd  had  a  peep 
into  a  den  of  wild  beasts  an'  was  afraid  they'd  break  out 
an'  get  'er.  Liza  Ann's  got  t'  go  an'  see  'er,  an'  I'm  goin' 
t'  tell 'er  so." 

As  Silas  went  toward  the  house,  he  stopped  suddenly 
and  looked  back  at  the  wagon,  which  stood  in  the  same 
place  he  had  left  it  that  rainy  afternoon  over  a  year 
ago. 

"  She  looked  that  peert  with  'er  red  lips  an'  bright  eyes, 
a  askin'  if  th'  school  board  was  t'  meet.  Pore  little 
woman  —  she  ain't  a  goslin'  any  more,  an'  'er  new  feathers 
ain't  turnin'  th'  rain  very  good  neither,"  he  reflected, 
shaking  his  head. 


264         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  long  day  ended  at  last  and  John  came  to  the 
house  after  the  evening  chores  were  finished.  Elizabeth 
waited  for  him  in  her  bedroom.  Throughout  the 
entire  evening  she  had  been  telling  herself  that  she 
must  make  this  thing  right.  For  the  sake  of  the  ex- 
pected child  she  must  not  let  her  mind  be  disturbed 
with  the  hurt  feeling  she  had  been  unable  to  put  away 
since  John  had  gone  out  without  letting  her  explain 
about  the  morning's  baking.  She  allowed  herself  no 
angry  or  resentful  thought  for  the  prolonged  and 
cruel  reproach.  Dry-eyed,  she  sat  by  the  open  window 
in  her  nightdress,  making  buttonholes  in  a  tiny  slip 
as  she  waited.  She  heard  him  deposit  the  basket  of 
cobs  beside  the  kitchen  stove,  which  he  never  forgot 
to  bring  in  at  night,  and  by  the  rattle  of  the  dipper 
which  followed  and  the  chug,  chug,  chug  of  the  pump 
knew  that  he  was  filling  the  reservoir.  Breakfast  on 
the  farm  was  an  early  meal  and  greatly  facilitated  by 
small  preparations.  John  never  forgot  nor  neglected 
his  part  of  the  household  duties.  Elizabeth  sighed. 
John  had  the  appearance  of  right  on  his  side  when 
he  demanded  her  highest  efforts  at  the  household  altar. 
She  put  away  the  little  slip  as  she  heard  him  com- 
ing toward  the  bedroom  and  rose  to  meet  him.  The 
tears  came  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  stay  them,  and  to 
hide  her  face  she  dug  it  deep  into  his  shoulder  while 
she  sobbed  out  her  story.  It  was  a  full  minute  be- 
fore John's  arm  went  about  her,  but  at  last  reflect- 
ing that  something  was  due  one  in  her  condition, 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         265 

he  patted  her  heaving  shoulders  and  said  as  if  address- 
ing a  child: 

"There,  there  now,  I  never  thought  of  you  feeling  so 
bad,"  and  after  a  minute's  thought  added,  "but  you  see, 
dear,  the  part  of  the  dinner  you  saw  to  yourself  was  all 
right,  and  the  pies  had  to  be  apologized  for." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"PORE  LITTLE  WOMAN" 

SILAS  CHAMBERLAIN  answered  to  a  loud  knock 
on  his  door  at  the  midnight  hour.  It  was  the  first 
week  of  August. 

"From  Hunter's,  you  say?" 

There  was  a  mumbled  conversation  at  the  door. 

"Why,  yes,  of  course.  Come  right  in  —  glad  t'  have 
you.  When  was  you  called  —  an  hour  an'  a  half  ago? 
Now  you  come  right  upstairs,  an'  we'll  have  you  in  bed  in 
two  shakes.  There  now  —  them  covers' 11  be  too  heavy,  I 
'spect,  but  you  kin  throw  'em  off  if  you  don't  want  'em. 
Jest  keep  that  light.  I'll  git  another  downstairs.  Good- 
night. Oh,  yes!  Jake's  gone  for  th'  doctor,  you  say? 
Started  an  hour  an'  a  half  ago?  Guess  'e  ain't  there  yet 
—  seven  mile  you  know.  Well,  good-night!" 

Silas  stumbled  down  the  steep  stairs. 

"Liza  Ann,  it's  come!     Pore  little  woman!" 

He  got  back  into  bed  and  lay  so  still  that  his  wife 
thought  him  asleep.  "Pore  child!"  she  heard  him  say 
just  as  she  was  drifting  off  to  dreamland.  An  hour  passed. 
An  hour  and  a  half.  There  was  the  sound  of  wheels. 

"That's  th'  doctor,  Liza  Ann."     There  was  no  reply. 

The  old  man  fidgeted  for  fifteen  minutes  more;  he  had 

266 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         267 

grown  nervous.  He  slid  out  of  the  bed  quietly  and  went 
to  the  barn. 

"Thought  I  heard  a  noise,"  he  told  himself  by  way  of 
excuse  for  his  action.  "Wonder  if  Old  Queen's  loose?" 
He  felt  his  way  along  the  manger  carefully.  Unaccus- 
tomed to  midnight  visitors,  Queen  snorted  and  shrank 
from  his  hand  when  he  touched  her. 

"Whoa,  there!  You  needn't  be  so  blamed  'fraid  — 
nothin's  goin'  t'  hurt  you.  You  ain't  a  woman." 

Silas  found  a  nail-keg  and  sat  down  on  it  across  from 
the  nibbling  horses,  and  thought  and  waited. 

"He's  there  by  this  time,"  he  murmured  presently. 
"Wisht  they'd  'a'  sent  for  Liza  Ann.  No,  I  guess  it's 
better  not.  She  wouldn't  know  what  t'  do,  havin'  no 
experience." 

He  debated  with  himself  as  to  whether  he  should  go 
back  to  bed  or  not. 

"Couldn't  sleep,"  he  concluded.  "Lord!  how  long  the 
nights  is  when  a  feller's  awake!" 

The  horses  ate  on  uninterruptedly  and  the  soft  breeze 
stole  through  the  old  barn,  while  everything  in  nature  was 
indicative  of  peace  except  the  old  man,  whose  mind 
worked  relentlessly  on  the  situation  of  the  young  wife 
whose  certain  suffering  racked  him  almost  as  much  as  if 
he  had  stood  in  its  presence. 

"Gosh-a-livin's!"  he  exclaimed  as  a  new  thought 
struck  him.  "I  wonder  which  one  of  'em  Jake  got. 
Now  that  young  Doc  Stubbins  ain't  got  no  more 
sense  'n  a  louse.  I  ought  t'  'a'  told  John  an'  I  for- 


z6S         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

got.  Lord!  Lord!  th'  chances  th'  poor  critters  have  t' 
take!" 

Mrs.  Chamberlain  was  awakened  in  the  gray  light  of 
morning  as  her  husband  crept  shivering  into  bed. 

"Where  you  been?"  she  asked. 

"Out  t'  th'  barn.  Heard  a  noise  an'  thought  I'd  better 
look  into  it,"  was  Silas's  reply. 

As  the  sun  rose  the  new  life  was  ushered  in.  Doctor 
Morgan  did  not  start  home  till  after  nine  o'clock. 

"Who  is  to  have  charge  of  your  wife,  Mr.  Hunter?"  he 
asked  as  he  paused  in  the  door  and  looked  back  at  his 
patient  anxiously.  Seven  miles  was  a  long  distance  — 
and  she  might  need  him  suddenly. 

"Why,  I  thought  Hepsie  and  I  could  care  for  her," 
John  replied.  Trained  nurses  were  unheard  of  in  those 
days. 

"  It  simply  cannot  be, "  answered  the  old  man.  (Doctor 
Stubbins  had  not  been  engaged.)  "Another  attack  like 
this  last  one  would  —  well,  you  must  have  some  one  of 
experience  here.  It's  a  matter  of  life  or  death  —  at 
least  it  might  be, "  he  added  under  his  breath.  "  Couldn't 
you  stay?"  he  asked  Susan  Hornby,  who  sat  with  the 
baby  on  her  knee.  "The  girl's  liable  to  slip  away  from 
us  before  I  could  get  here. " 

It  was  arranged  that  Aunt  Susan  should  stay  with  the 
young  mother,  who  was  too  weak  to  turn  her  head  on  the 
pillow  it  lay  upon,  for  as  the  old  doctor  had  said  she  was  a 
desperately  sick  girl.  They  had  but  just  kept  her  with 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         269 

them.  The  presence  of  Aunt  Susan  was  almost  as 
delightful  to  Elizabeth  Hunter  as  the  head  of  the  child 
on  her  arm.  Weak  and  exhausted,  she  was  permitted 
such  rest  as  she  had  not  known  in  all  the  days  of  her 
married  life.  The  darkened  room  and  the  quiet  of  the 
next  three  days  were  such  a  mercy  to  her  tired  nerves 
that  she  would  have  been  glad  to  lie  there  for  ages.  Doc- 
tor Morgan  let  Susan  Hornby  return  to  her  home  and 
husband  at  the  end  of  the  week,  confident  that  with  care, 
Hepsie  could  perform  the  little  offices  required,  but  he  was 
to  learn  that  country  people  have  little  judgment  in 
serious  cases  of  illness,  and  that  the  young  mother's  room 
would  be  filled  with  company  when  he  came  out  the  next 
day. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crane  were  the  first  to  arrive  on  Sunday 
morning,  and  when  John  announced  that  they  were  driv- 
ing up  to  the  hitching  post,  Elizabeth  begged  weakly  for 
him  to  say  that  she  was  too  ill  to  see  any  one  that  day. 
John  would  have  been  glad  to  deliver  that  message, 
remembering  the  wedding  day,  but  Sadie  was  with  her 
mother,  and  John  had  found  Luther  a  convenient  neigh- 
bour of  late. 

"We  can't  offend  them,"  he  said. 

"But  I  can't  have  them.  Please,  John  —  with  my 
head  aching  already." 

"Don't  speak  so  loud,"  John  said  warningly. 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  came  and  had  to  have  her  team  tied  to 
the  barnyard  fence.  She  walked  to  the  house  with  the 
rest  of  the  company,  and  even  in  their  presence  could  not 


270        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

restrain  her  complaints  because  she  had  not  been  notified 
of  her  daughter's  serious  illness  and  the  arrival  of  the  child. 
Elizabeth's  protest  that  they  had  been  absorbed  by  that 
illness,  and  too  busy  to  think  of  anything  but  the  most 
urgent  and  immediate  duties,  did  not  quiet  the  objections, 
for  Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  the  habit  of  weak  insistence.  Her 
mother's  whine  was  never  so  hard  to  bear. 

•"Where's  Mr.  Farnshaw?"  Mr.  Crane  asked.  "He's 
grandpa  now." 

Elizabeth  shrank  into  her  pillows,  and  Mrs.  Farnshaw 
bridled  angrily. 

"He's  busy,"  was  her  tart  reply. 

"I  should  think  he'd  want  t'  see  his  grandson.  Lizzie, 
you  haven't  showed  me  that  boy, "  Mr.  Crane  insisted. 

And  Elizabeth,  weak  and  worn,  had  to  draw  the  sleep- 
ing child  from  under  the  quilts  at  her  side  and  show  him 
off  as  if  he  had  been  a  roll  of  butter  at  a  country  fair, 
while  constant  reference  was  made  to  one  phase  or  another 
of  the  unpleasant  things  in  her  experience.  Her  colour 
deepened  and  her  head  thumped  more  and  more  violently, 
and  by  noon  when  they  trooped  out  to  the  dining  room, 
where  Hepsie  had  a  good  dinner  waiting,  the  girl-wife  was 
worn  out.  She  could  not  eat  the  food  brought  to  her,  but 
drank  constantly,  and  was  unable  to  get  a  snatch  of  sleep 
before  the  visitors  assembled  about  her  bed  again. 

At  four  o'clock  Doctor  Morgan  arrived  and  Luther 
Hansen  came  for  Sadie.  Sadie  saw  him  drive  in,  and 
laughed  unpleasantly. 

"Luther  wasn't  a  bit  for  comin',  but  I  told  him  I'd 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         271 

come  over  with  ma,  an'  he  could  come  after  me.  He's 
always  chicken-hearted,  an'  said  since  Lizzie  was  so  sick 
we  oughtn't  t'  come.  I  don't  see  as  you're  s'  sick,  Lizzie; 
you've  got  lots  of  good  colour  in  your  face,  an'  th'  way 
you  pull  that  baby  around  don't  look  much  like  you  was 
goin'  t'  kick  the  bucket  just  yet." 

Elizabeth  made  no  reply,  but  watched  John  help  Doctor 
Morgan  tie  his  team. 

"How's  Mrs.  Hunter?"  Doctor  Morgan  asked  John  as 
he  came  around  to  the  gate  after  the  horses  were  fastened. 

"All  right,  I  guess.  She's  had  a  good  deal  of  company 
to-day.  I  didn't  want  them,  but  you  can't  offend  people. " 

"  We  usually  have  a  good  deal  of  company  at  a  funeral," 
the  old  doctor  said  dryly,  as  he  viewed  the  extra  horses 
and  wagons  about  the  fence. 

When  he  entered  the  sickroom  his  face  hardened. 

"I'm  not  as  much  afraid  of  your  neighbours  as  you  are, 
Mr.  Hunter,"  he  said,  and  went  to  the  middle  door  and 
beckoned  Luther  to  come  with  him  into  the  yard.  A  few 
words  was  all  that  was  needed  with  Luther  Hansen,  and 
the  doctor  returned  to  his  patient. 

Sadie  was  more  sarcastic  than  usual  as  they  drove  home. 

"I  wouldn't  'a'  come  if  I'd  a  known  I  wasn't  wanted," 
she  remarked  sulkily 

"But,  Sadie,  Doc  Morgan  says  she's  worse!  I'd  turn 
'em  out  quick  enough  if  it  was  you." 

Poor  little  Sadie  Hansen  caught  the  spirit  of  the  remark. 
Nothing  like  it  had  ever  before  been  offered  her  in  all 


272         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

her  bitter,  sensitive  experience.  She  looked  up  at  her 
husband  mollified,  and  let  even  Elizabeth  have  a  season 
of  rest  as  she  considered  this  astonishing  thing  which 
marriage  had  brought  to  her. 

Susan  Hornby,  who  had  thought  her  darling  resting  on 
this  quiet  Sabbath  day,  was  reestablished  at  the  bedside, 
and  it  was  not  till  the  morning  of  the  tenth  day  that  she 
again  left  the  house.  At  the  end  of  that  time  she  was 
dismissed  reluctantly  by  the  good  old  doctor  himself.  It 
had  been  such  a  good  excuse  to  be  with  Elizabeth  that 
Aunt  Susan  had  persuaded  the  long-suffering  Nathan  that 
her  presence  beside  her  was  a  thing  not  to  be  denied,  and 
Nathan,  glad  to  see  Sue  so  happy,  ate  many  a  cold  meal 
that  haying  season  and  did  not  complain.  It  was  a  great 
event  in  Susan  Hornby's  life.  Gentle  and  cordial  to  all, 
Susan  Hornby  lived  much  alone  —  alone  most  of  all  when 
surrounded  with  her  neighbours.  Elizabeth  was  her  only 
real  tie. 

"Oh,  child!  I'm  so  glad  you've  got  him,"  she  said  one 
day  as  she  laid  the  beautiful  brown  head  on  Elizabeth's 
arm. 

Elizabeth  patted  the  hand  that  was  drawing  the  little 
white  shawl  over  the  baby's  head.  Master  John  Hunter 
— the  babe  had  been  named  for  its  father — had  had 
his  daily  bath,  and  robed  in  fresh  garments,  and  being 
well  fed  and  housed  in  the  snuggest  of  all  quarters,  the 
little  triangle  made  by  a  mother's  arm,  settled  himself  for 
his  daily  nap,  while  the  two  women  watched  him  with  the 
eyes  of  affection.  Never  again  do  we  so  nearly  attain 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         273 

perfect  peace  in  this  turbulent  life  as  during  those  first  few 
weeks  when  the  untroubled  serenity  of  human  existence  is 
infringed  upon  by  nothing  but  a  desire  for  nourishment, 
which  is  conveniently  present,  to  be  had  at  the  first  asking, 
and  which  there  is  such  a  heaven  of  delight  in  obtaining. 
We  are  told  that  we  can  only  enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
by  becoming  as  little  children:  no  other  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  is  adequate  after  that. 

The  life  in  this  little  room  had  taken  Susan  Hornby  back 
to  her  own  youth,  and  as  often  as  otherwise  when  Master 
John  was  being  put  through  his  daily  ablutions  it  was  the 
little  Katie  of  long  ago  that  she  bathed  and  robed  fresh 
and  clean  for  the  morning  nap.  At  other  times  Eliza- 
beth was  her  Katie  grown  older.  It  was  the  flowering 
time  of  Susan  Hornby's  life.  The  fact  that  Elizabeth  had 
never  crossed  her  threshold  since  her  marriage  to  John 
Hunter  had  faded  out  of  Aunt  Susan's  mind.  Elizabeth's 
every  word  and  look  spoke  the  affection  she  felt  for  her. 
Other  people  might  sneer  and  doubt,  but  Susan  Hornby 
accepted  what  her  instincts  told  her  was  genuine. 

Elizabeth  got  about  the  house  slowly.  The  days  in  bed 
had  been  made  tolerable  by  the  presence  of  those  she 
loved,  but  she  was  far  from  strong,  and  she  looked  for- 
ward with  reluctance  to  the  time  when  Aunt  Susan  would 
not  be  with  her.  John  complained  of  Hepsie's  work  only 
when  with  his  wife  alone,  for  Aunt  Susan  had  been  so 
constant  in  her  praises  that  he  would  not  start  a  discus- 
sion which  he  had  found  he  brought  out  by  such  criticism. 


274         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Susan  Hornby  looked  on,  and  was  as  much  puzzled  as 
ever  about  the  relations  of  the  young  couple.  Elizabeth 
was  evidently  anxious  about  John's  opinions,  but  she 
never  by  so  much  as  a  word  indicated  that  they  differed 
from  hers.  She  spoke  of  him  with  all  the  glow  of  her 
early  love;  she  pointed  out  his  helpfulness  as  if  he  were  the 
only  man  in  the  world  who  looked  after  the  kitchen  affairs 
with  such  exactitude;  she  would  have  the  baby  named  for 
no  one  else,  and  all  her  life  and  thought  centred  around 
him  in  so  evident  a  manner  that  Aunt  Susan  could  not  but 
feel  that  she  was  the  happiest  of  wives.  She  talked  of  her 
ideals  of  harmony,  of  her  thankfulness  for  the  example  of 
the  older  woman's  life  with  her  husband,  of  her  desire  to 
pattern  after  that  example,  of  everything  that  was  good 
and  hopeful  in  her  life,  with  so  much  enthusiasm  as  to 
completely  convince  her  friend  that  she  had  found  a  fitting 
abiding  place.  And,  indeed,  Elizabeth  believed  all  that 
she  said.  Each  mistake  of  their  married  life  together  had 
been  put  away  as  a  mistake.  Each  day  she  began  in  firm 
faith  in  the  possibility  of  bringing  about  necessary 
changes.  If  she  failed,  she  was  certain  in  her  own  mind 
that  the  failure  had  been  due  to  some  weakness  of  her  own. 
Never  did  man  have  a  more  patient,  trusting  wife  than 
John  Hunter.  There  had  been  much  company  about  the 
house  of  late,  and  there  had  been  no  difficulties.  Elizabeth 
was  not  yet  analytical  enough  to  reason  out  that  because 
of  the  presence  of  that  company  far  less  demand  had  been 
made  upon  her  by  her  husband.  She  thought  that  they 
were  reallv  getting  on  better  than  they  had  done,  and  told 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         275 

herself  happily  that  it  must  be  because  she  was  more 
rested  than  she  had  been  and  was  therefore  not  so  an- 
noyed by  small  things.  It  was  ever  Elizabeth's  way  to 
look  for  blame  in  herself.  The  baby  was  a  great  source 
of  pleasure  also.  He  was  a  good  child  and  slept  in 
the  most  healthy  fashion,  though  beginning  now  when 
awake  to  look  about  him  a  little  and  try  to  associate 
himself  witsh  his  surroundings.  Elizabeth  had  begun  to 
look  forward  to  Silas's  first  visit  with  the  child.  Silas  had 
quaint  ways  with  the  young,  and  it  was  with  very  real 
pleasure  that  she  dragged  herself  to  the  door  and  admit- 
ted him  the  first  week  she  was  out  of  bed.  Elizabeth 
led  the  old  man  to  the  lounge  on  tiptoe. 

"I  want  you  to  see  him,  Mr.  Chamberlain;  you  and  he 
are  to  be  great  friends, "  she  said  as  she  went  down  on  her 
knees  and  drew  the  white  shawl  reverently  from  the  sleep- 
ing face.  " Isn't  he  a  fine,  big  fellow?"  she  asked,  looking 
up  at  the  old  man. 

"'E  ought  t'  be,  havin'  you  for  his  mother,"  Silas  said 
with  an  attempt  at  being  witty,  and  looking  at  the  baby 
shyly. 

The  baby  roused  a  little,  and  stretched  and  grunted, 
baby  fashion. 

"Lordie!  what  good  sleep  they  do  have!"  Silas  said, 
holding  out  his  finger  to  the  little  red  hand  extended 
toward  him,  and  then  withdrawing  it  suddenly.  "Now, 
Liza  Ann  sleeps  just  like  that  t'  this  day."  He  spoke 
hesitatingly,  as  if  searching  for  a  topic  of  conversation. 
"She  does  'er  work  regular  like, an'  she  sleeps  as  regular  as 


276         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

she  works.  I  often  think  what  a  satisfyin'  sort  of  life  she 
leads,  anyhow.  She  tends  t'  'er  own  business  an'  she 
don't  tend  t'  nobody  else's,  an'  —  an'  —  she  ain't  got  no 
more  on  'er  mind  'n  that  there  baby." 

Elizabeth  gathered  the  child  into  her  arms  and  seated 
herself  in  a  rocking  chair,  while  the  old  man  sat  stiffly 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  lounge  and  continued: 

"Now  I  ain't  that  way,  you  know.  I  have  a  most 
uncomfortable  way  of  gettin'  mixed  up  in  th'  affairs  of 
others. " 

"But  it's  always  a  friendly  interest,"  Elizabeth  inter- 
posed, mystified  by  his  curious  manner  and  rambling 
conversation. 

Silas  crossed  his  knees  and,  clasping  his  hands  about  the 
uppermost  one,  rocked  back  and  forth  on  the  edge  of  the 
lounge. 

"Most  allus,"  he  admitted,  "but  not  quite.  Now  I'm 
fair  ready  t'  fight  that  new  Mis  Hansen.  I've  been  right 
fond  of  Luther,  for  th'  short  time  I've  knowed  'im,  but 
what  he  see  in  that  there  Sadie  Crane  's  beyond  me.  He's 
square.  He  looks  you  in  th'  face's  open  's  day  when  he 
talks  t'  you,  an'  you  know  th'  ain't  no  lawyer's  tricks  in  th' 
wordin'  of  it.  But  she's  different.  They  was  over  t'  our 
house  Sunday  'fore  last  an'  I  never  knowed  Liza  Ann  t' 
be  's  near  explodin'  's  she  was  'fore  they  left.  It  done  me 
right  smart  good  t'  see  'er  brace  up  an'  defend  'erself.  I 
tell  you  Mis  Hansen  see  she'd  riled  a  hornet  'fore  she  got 
away.  Liza  Ann  '11  take  an'  take,  till  you  hit  'er  just 
right,  an'  then  —  oh,  my!" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         277 

Silas  ended  with  a  chuckle. 

"After  they  left,  she  just  told  me  I  could  exchange 
works  with  somebody  else;  she  wasn't  goin'  t'  have  that 
woman  comin'  t'  our  house  no  more." 

"Sadie  is  awfully  provoking,"  Elizabeth  admitted, 
"but  —  but  —  Luther  likes  her,  and  Luther  is  a  good 
judge  of  people,  I  always  thought." 

"Yep,"  Silas  admitted  in  return,  "an'  I  don't  under- 
stand it.  Anyhow,  I  never  knew  Liza  Ann  come  s'  near 
forgettin'  'erself.  It  was  worth  a  day's  travel  t'  see." 

They  talked  of  other  things,  the  baby  dropped  asleep  in 
its  mother's  arms,  and  Silas  took  his  departure. 

"How  unlike  him,"  Elizabeth  said  to  herself  as  she 
watched  him  go  to  his  wagon. 

Silas  rode  away  in  an  ill-humour  with  himself. 

"Now  there  I've  been  an'  talked  like  a  lunatic  asylum," 
he  meditated.  "I  allus  was  that  crazy  about  babies! 
Here  I've  gone  an'  talked  spiteful  about  th'  neighbours, 
an'  told  things  that  hadn't  ought  t'  be  told.  If  I'd  a 
talked  "about  that  baby,  I'd  V  let  'er  see  I  was  plum 
foolish  about  it  —  an'  I  couldn't  think  of  a  blessed  thing 
but  th'  Hansens. " 

He  rode  for  a  while  with  a  dissatisfied  air  which  gave 
way  to  a  look  of  yearning. 

"My!  How  •  roud  a  man  ought  t' be !  How  little  folks 
knows  what  they've  got  t'  be  thankful  for!  Now  I'll  bet 
'e  just  takes  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  an'  never  stops  t' 
think  whether  other  folks  is  as  lucky  or  not.  She  don't. 
She's  in  such  a  heaven  of  delight,  she  don't  care  if  she  has 


278         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

lost  'er  purty  colour,  or  jumped  into  a  life  that'll  make  an 
ol'  woman  of  'er  'fore  she's  hardly  begun  t'  be  a  girl,  nor 
nothin'.  She's  just  livin'  in  that  little  un,  an'  don't  even 
know  that  can't  last  long. " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  he  broke  out  again. 

''Think  of  a  man  havin'  all  that,  an'  not  knowin'  th' 
worth  of  it!  Lord!  If  I'd  'a'  had  —  but  there  now,  Liza 
Ann  wouldn't  want  me  t'  mourn  over  it  —  not  bein'  'er 
fault  exactly.  Guess  I  ought  t'  be  patient;  but  I  would 
'a'  liked  a  little  feller." 

When  John  came  home  that  night  Elizabeth  told  him 
of  Silas's  visit. 

"He  hardly  looked  at  baby  at  all,"  she  said  disappoint- 
edly, "and  I'd  counted  on  his  cunning  ways  with  it  more 
than  anybody's.  I  thought  he'd  be  real  pleased  with  it, 
and  instead  of  that,  he  didn't  seem  interested  in  it  at  all, 
and  sat  and  stared  at  me  and  talked  about  Sadie.  I 
thought  sure  he'd  want  to  hold  it  —  he's  got  such  cute 
ways. " 

"How  could  you  expect  an  old  fellow  like  him  to  care 
for  babies?"  John  said,  smiling  at  the  thought  of  it.  "A 
man  has  to  experience  such  things  to  know  what  they 
mean." 

He  took  the  child  from  her  arms  and  sat  down  to  rock 
it  while  he  waited  for  the  supper  to  be  put  on  the  table. 

"Say,"  he  began,  "I  saw  Hepsie  setting  the  sponge  for 
to-morrow's  bread  as  I  came  through  the  kitchen.  I'll 
take  care  of  baby,  and  you  go  and  see  about  it.  The 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         279 

bread  hasn't  been  up  to  standard  since  you've  been  sick. 
You'll  have  to  look  after  things  a  little  closer  now  that 
you  are  up  again. " 

Elizabeth,  whose  back  was  not  strong,  had  been  sitting 
on  the  lounge,  and  now  dropped  into  a  reclining  position 
as  she  replied: 

"The  bread  has  not  been  bad,  John.  Aunt  Susan  was 
always  marvelling  at  how  good  it  was  compared  to  the 
usual  hired  girl's  bread." 

"It  was  pretty  badly  burned  last  time,"  John  observed 
dryly 

"That  didn't  happen  in  the  sponge,  dear,  and  anybody 
burns  the  bread  sometimes,"  she  returned;  "besides  that, 
it  makes  my  back  ache  to  stir  things  these  days." 

John  Hunter  did  not  reply,  but  every  line  of  him 
showed  his  displeasure.  It  was  not  possible  to  go  on  talk- 
ing about  anything  else  while  he  was  annoyed,  and  the  girl 
began  to  feel  she  was  not  only  lazy  but  easily  irritated 
about  a  very  small  thing.  Reflecting  that  her  back 
would  quit  hurting  if  she  rested  afterward,  she  arose  from 
the  lounge  and  dragged  herself  to  the  kitchen,  where  she 
stirred  the  heavy  sponge  batter  as  she  was  bidden. 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  expected  to  return  in  a  little  over  a 
week,  and  the  first  days  when  Elizabeth  was  able  to  begin 
to  do  small  things  about  the  house  were  spent  in  getting 
the  house  cleaning  done  and  the  entire  place  in  order  for 
her  coming.  It  happened  that  a  light  frost  fell  upon 
Kansas  that  year  weeks  before  they  were  accustomed  to 
look  for  it,  and  the  tomato  vines  were  bitten.  It  was 


28o         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

necessary  to  can  quickly  such  as  could  be  saved.  In  those 
days  all  the  fruit  and  vegetables  used  on  Kansas  farms 
were  "put  up"  at  home,  and  Elizabeth,  with  two,  and 
sometimes  more,  hired  men  to  cook  for,  was  obliged  to 
have  her  pantry  shelves  well  stocked.  The  heat  of  the 
great  range  and  the  hurry  of  the  extra  work  flushed  the 
pale  face  and  made  deep  circles  below  her  eyes,  but 
Elizabeth's  pride  in  her  table  kept  her  at  her  post  till  the 
canning  was  done.  By  Saturday  night  the  tomatoes  were 
all  "up,"  and  the  carpets  upstairs  had  been  beaten  and 
retacked.  Mrs.  Hunter's  room  had  been  given  the  most 
exact  care  and  was  immaculate  with  tidies  and  pillow- 
shams,  ironed  by  Elizabeth's  own  hands,  and  the  chickens 
to  be  served  on  the  occasion  of  her  arrival  were  "cut  up" 
and  ready  for  the  frying  pan. 

Sunday  there  was  a  repast  fit  for  a  king  when  John  and 
his  mother  came  from  town.  Every  nerve  in  Elizabeth's 
body  had  been  stretched  to  the  limit  in  the  production  of 
that  meal.  Too  tired  to  eat  herself,  the  young  wife  sat 
with  her  baby  in  her  arms  and  watched  the  hungry  family 
devour  the  faultless  repast.  She  might  be  tired,  but  the 
dinner  was  a  success.  The  next  morning,  when  the  usual 
rising  hour  of  half-past  four  o'clock  came,  it  seemed  to 
the  weary  girl  that  she  could  not  drag  herself  up  to  super- 
intend the  getting  of  the  breakfast. 

"Mother'll  help  you  with  the  morning  work  and  you  can 
lie  down  afterward,"  John  assured  her  when  she  expressed 
a  half  determination  not  to  rise. 

But  after  breakfast  Mrs.  Hunter  suggested  that  they 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         281 

scour  the  tinware,  and  the  three  women  put  in  the  spare 
time  of  the  entire  morning  polishing  and  rubbing  pans  and 
lids.  As  they  worked,  Mrs.  Hunter  discussed  tinware, 
till  not  even  the  shininess  of  the  pans  upon  which  they 
worked  could  cover  the  disappointment  of  the  girl  that  her 
mother-in-law  should  have  discovered  it  in  such  a  neg- 
lected condition. 

"Really,  child,  it  isn't  fit  to  put  milk  in  again  till  it's 
in  better  condition.  How  did  you  happen  to  let  it  get  so 
dull  and  rusty?" 

"Now,  mother,  it  isn't  rusty  at  all.  It  is  pretty  dull, 
but  that's  not  Hepsie's  fault.  It  was  as  bright  as  a  pin 
when  I  got  up,  but  we've  had  the  tomatoes  to  put  up  and 
the  housecleaning  to  do  and  it  couldn't  be  helped," 
Elizabeth  replied,  covering  up  any  share  the  girl  might 
have  had  in  the  matter.  She  knew  the  extra  work  which 
had  fallen  on  Hepsie's  shoulders  in  those  last  weeks,  and 
particularly  since  she  herself  had  been  out  of  bed,  for  the 
girl  loved  Elizabeth  and  had  shielded  her  by  extra  steps 
many  times  when  her  own  limbs  must  have  ached  with 
weariness. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  used  the  tin  pans  for  any 
thing  as  corroding  as  tomatoes!"  Mrs.  Hunter  exclaimed 
in  astonishment. 

"We  used  everything  in  sight  I  think  —  and  then  didn't 
have  enough,"  Elizabeth  said  with  a  laugh. 

"But  you  should  never  use  your  milk  pans  for  any- 
thing but  milk,  dear,"  the  older  woman  remonstrated. 
"You  know  milk  takes  up  everything  that  comes  its  way, 


282         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

and  typhoid  comes  from  milk  oftener  than  any  other 
source." 

"There  are  no  typhoids  in  tomatoes  fresh  from  the 
vine,"  Elizabeth  replied  testily,  and  Mrs.  Hunter  dropped 
the  subject. 

But  though  she  dropped  the  subject  she  did  not  let  the 
pans  drop  till  the  last  one  shone  like  a  mirror.  With  the 
large  number  of  cows  they  were  milking  many  receptacles 
were  needed  and  John  had  got  those  pans  because  they 
were  lighter  to  handle  than  the  heavy  stone  crocks  used 
by  most  farmers'  wives.  Elizabeth  was  more  apprecia- 
tive of  those  pans  than  any  purchase  which  had  been 
made  for  her  benefit  in  all  the  months  she  had  served  as 
John's  housekeeper,  but  by  the  time  she  was  through 
scouring  she  was  ready  to  throw  them  at  any  one  who  was 
foolish  enough  to  address  her  upon  housekeeping;  besides, 
she  plainly  discerned  the  marks  of  discontent  upon 
Hepsie's  face.  Hepsie  was  a  faithful  servitor,  but  she  had 
learned  by  several  years  of  service  to  stop  before  her 
energies  were  exhausted.  It  was  the  first  sign  of  dis- 
satisfaction she  had  ever  shown,  and  Elizabeth  was  con- 
cerned. 

The  next  morning  Elizabeth's  head  was  one  solid, 
throbbing  globe  of  roar  and  pain.  Mrs.  Hunter  brought 
her  a  dainty  breakfast  which  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
eat,  and  said  with  genuine  affection: 

"We  have  let  you  do  too  much,  my  dear,  and  I  mean  to 
take  some  of  this  burden  off  of  your  shoulders.  You're 
not  yourself  yet.  John  tells  me  you  were  sicker  than 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         283 

people  usually  are  at  such  times.  I  ought  to  have  helped 
the  girl  with  that  tinware  yesterday  and  sent  you  to  bed. " 

Elizabeth  listened  with  some  alarm  to  the  proposition  of 
Mrs.  Hunter  taking  the  house  into  her  own  hands,  but  she 
was  touched  by  the  real  sympathy  and  concern  evident. 

"It's  good  of  you,  mother.  You'll  have  to  be  careful 
about  Hepsie,  though.  You  must  not  call  her  'the  girP 
where  she  hears  you.  You  see  she  is  one  of  our  old 
neighbours,  and  —  and  —  well,  they  hate  to  be  called  that 
—  and  they  aren't  exactly  servants." 

"Well,  I'll  get  the  dinner  for  her  —  it's  wash  day. 
Don't  try  to  get  up,"  Mrs.  Hunter  said,  taking  the  break- 
fast away  with  her. 

"Be  careful  about  Hepsie,  mother,"  Elizabeth  called 
after  her  in  an  undertone.  "She's  a  good  girl,  if  you 
understand  her  and  —  and  they  leave  you  at  the  drop  of 
a  hat." 

Hepsie's  going  came  sooner  than  even  Elizabeth  had 
feared.  She  brought  a  cup  of  coffee  to  her  at  noon,  but 
avoided  conversation  and  went  out  at  once. 

Elizabeth  called  her  mother-in-law  to  her  after  dinner 
was  over  and  cautioned  her  afresh. 

"But  I  haven't  had  a  word  with  her  that  was  ill-natured 
or  cross,"  Mrs.  Hunter  protested  indignantly. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  have,  mother,"  the  miserable  girl 
replied,  puzzled  as  to  how  she  was  to  make  the  older 
woman  understand.  "It's  —  it's  a  way  you  have.  I 
saw  that  she  was  hurt  about  that  tinware.  She's  been 
very  satisfactory,  really.  She  takes  every  step  off  of  me 


284         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  she  can.  She's  the  best  in  the  country  —  and  — 
and  they  hang  together  too.  If  we  lost  her,  we'd  have  a 
hard  time  getting  another." 

"Well,  it  makes  me  cross  to  have  to  work  with  them  as 
if  they  were  rotten  eggs  and  we  were  afraid  of  breaking 
one,  but  if  I  have  it  to  do  I  suppose  I  can.  I  only  looked 
after  the  clothes  to  see  that  she  got  the  streaks  out  of 
them.  I  knew  she  was  mad  about  something,  but  I 
rinsed  them  myself;  I  always  do  that." 

After  Mrs.  Hunter  was  gone  Elizabeth  thought  the 
matter  over  seriously.  Neither  Hepsie  nor  any  other 
girl  they  could  get  in  that  country  was  going  to  have  her 
work  inspected  as  if  she  were  a  slave.  They  were  free- 
born  American  women,  ignorant  of  many  things  regard- 
ing the  finer  kinds  of  housekeeping  in  most  instances,  but 
independent  from  birth  and  surroundings.  In  fact,  there 
was  a  peculiar  swagger  of  independence  which  bordered 
upon  insolence  in  most  of  the  homes  from  which  Kansas 
help  must  be  drawn.  Elizabeth  knew  that  their  dignity 
once  insulted  they  could  not  be  held  to  any  contract. 

Mrs.  Hunter  went  back  to  the  kitchen  and  tried  to 
redeem  the  mistakes  she  had  made,  but  Hepsie  would  not 
be  cajoled  and  the  unpleasantness  grew.  Saturday  night 
the  girl  came  to  Elizabeth  and  said,  without  looking  her 
in  the  face  at  all: 

"Jake  says,  if  he  can  have  th'  team,  he'll  take  me  home. 
I  —  I  think  I  won't  stay  any  longer. " 

"Do  you  have  to  go,  Hepsie?"  Elizabeth  said,  her  face 
troubled. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         285 

Hepsie  avoided  her  glance  because  she  knew  the  trouble 
was  there.  Hepsie  had  been  very  happy  in  this  house 
and  had  been  proud  of  a  chance  to  keep  its  well  supplied 
shelves  in  satisfactory  condition.  Gossip  hovered  over 
whatever  went  on  in  the  Hunter  home,  and  there  was  a 
distinction  in  being  associated  with  it;  also  Hepsie  had 
come  to  love  Elizabeth  more  than  she  usually  did  her 
country  mistresses.  She  saw  that  all  the  unkind  things 
which  were  being  said  about  Elizabeth's  stuck-up  pro- 
pensities were  untrue,  and  that  Elizabeth  Hunter  was  as 
sensible  and  kindly  as  could  be  wished  when  people  under- 
stood her. 

"I'll  be  up  and  around  hereafter,"  Elizabeth  con- 
tinued. "You  don't  understand  mother.  She's  all  right, 
only  she  isn't  used  to  the  farm." 

"I  guess  I  understand  'er  all  right,"  Hepsie  said  sul- 
lenly; "  't  wouldn't  make  no  difference,  you  bein'  up. 
She'd  be  a-tellin'  me  what  t'  do  just  th'  same,  an'  I'm  tired 
enough,  washdays,  without  havin'  somebody  t'  aggravate 
me  about  every  piece  that  goes  through  th'  rench. " 

She  stood  waiting  for  Elizabeth  to  speak,  and  when  she 
did  not,  added  resentfully: 

"You  an'  me  always  got  along.  We  had  a  clean  house, 
too,  if  Mr.  Hunter  didn't  think  I  knew  much." 

Elizabeth's  surprise  was  complete.  She  had  not  sup- 
posed the  girl  knew  John's  estimate  of  her  work.  John 
was  usually  so  clever  about  keeping  out  of  sight  when  he 
insisted  upon  anything  unpleasant  that  it  had  never 
occurred  to  Elizabeth  that  Hepsie  was  aware  that  John 


286         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

insisted  upon  having  her  do  things  which  he  felt  that 
Hepsie  could  not  be  trusted  to  do  unwatched.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said.  She  reckoned  the  girl's  wages, 
and  told  her  that  Jake  could  have  the  team. 

Before  Hepsie  went  that  night,  she  came  back  to  the 
bedroom  and  cuddled  the  baby  tenderly. 

"  I'm  —  I'm  sorry  t'  go  an'  leave  you  with  th'  baby  so 
little,  Lizzie.  'Taint  hardly  fair,  but  —  but  if  you  worked 
out  a  while  you'd  learn  t'  quit  'fore  you  was  wore  out." 
She  stood  thinking  a  moment,  and  then  cautioned  Eliz- 
abeth sincerely:  "I'm  goin'  t'  say  one  thing  'fore  I  leave: 
you'd  better  ship  that  old  woman  'fore  you  try  t'  get 
another  girl  around  these  parts.  I'll  be  asked  why  I  left 
an' —  an'  I'll  have  t'  tell,  or  git  folks  t'  thinkin'  I'm  lazy 
an'  you  won't  have  me." 

Elizabeth's  heart  sank.  She  would  not  plead  for  the 
girl  to  keep  still.  It  would  have  been  of  no  use;  besides, 
her  own  sense  of  fairness  told  her  that  there  was  room  for 
all  that  had  been  hinted  at. 

Monday  John  spent  the  day  looking  for  a  girl  to  take 
Hepsie's  place.  Tired  and  discouraged,  he  came  home 
about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

"Could  you  get  me  a  bite  to  eat?"  he  asked  Elizabeth 
as  he  came  in.  "I  haven't  had  a  bite  since  breakfast." 

Elizabeth  laid  the  baby  on  the  bed,  and  turned  patiently 
toward  the  kitchen.  An  hour  was  consumed  in  getting 
the  extra  meal  and  doing  the  dishes  afterward,  and  then  it 
was  time  to  begin  the  regular  supper  for  the  rest  of  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         287 

family.  When  John  found  that  she  had  thrown  herself 
down  on  the  bed  to  nurse  the  baby  instead  of  coming  to  the 
table  for  her  supper,  he  insisted  that  she  at  least  come  and 
pour  the  tea,  and  when  she  sat  unresistant  through  the 
meal,  but  could  not  eat,  he  sent  her  to  bed  and  helped  his 
mother  wash  the  supper  dishes  without  complaint.  The 
next  morning,  however,  he  hailed  her  forth  to  assist  with 
the  half-past  four  o'clock  breakfast  relentlessly,  unaware 
that  she  had  spent  a  weary  and  sleepless  night. 

"Are  you  going  to  look  for  a  girl  to-day?"  she  asked  as 
he  was  leaving  the  house  after  the  breakfast  was  eaten. 

"Oh!  I  suppose  so,  but  I  haven't  much  hopes  of  getting 
one, "  he  answered  impatiently.  Then  seeing  the  tears  in 
her  eyes  at  the  thought  of  the  washing  waiting  to  be  done, 
he  kissed  her  tenderly.  "I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  dear;  I 
know  you're  tired." 

"Well,  the  next  one  I  get  I  hope  mother  '11  let  me  man- 
age her.  If  Hepsie  wouldn't  stand  her  ways  of  talking 
about  things  none  of  the  rest  will."  After  a  moment's 
reflection  she  added:  "I  cannot  do  all  this  work  myself. 
I'm  so  tired  I'm  ready  to  die. " 

John  slipped  his  arm  about  her  and  said  earnestly: 

"  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  help  you  with  the  dinner  dishes,  but 
you  are  not  to  say  one  word  to  mother  about  this. " 

It  was  gently  put,  but  authoritative. 

"Then  you  needn't  look  for  one  at  all,"  she  said 
sharply. 

John's  arm  fell  from  about  her  and  he  looked  at  her  in 
cold  astonishment. 


288         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"I  don't  care,"  she  insisted.  "I  can't  keep  a  girl  and 
have  mother  looking  over  every  piece  of  washing  that  is 
hung  on  the  line." 

"Mother  kept  girls  a  long  time  in  her  own  house,"  he 
answered,  taking  offence  at  once. 

"I  don't  care;  she  dealt  with  a  different  kind  of  girls." 
Then  with  a  sudden  illumination,  she  added:  "She  didn't 
have  such  quantities  of  work  to  do,  either.  If  we  go  on 
this  way  we'll  have  to  have  help  and  keep  it  or  we'll  have 
to  cut  down  the  farm  work."  She  brightened  with  the 
thought.  "Let's  cut  the  work  down  anyhow,  dear.  I'd 
have  so  much  an  easier  time  and  —  and  you  wouldn't 
have  all  those  wages  to  raise  every  month,  and  we  could 
live  so  much  more  comfortably." 

She  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"I  don't  see  but  we're  living  as  comfortably  as  folks 
usually  do, "  John  replied  evasively. 

"  I  know,  dear,  but  we  have  to  have  the  men  at  meals 
all  the  time  and  —  and " 

"Now  see  here,  Elizabeth,  don't  go  and  get  foolish.  A 
man  has  to  make  a  living, "  John  said  fretfully. 

The  girl  had  worked  uncomplainingly  until  her  last 
remnant  of  strength  was  gone,  and  they  were  neither  will- 
ing to  do  the  thing  which  made  it  possible  to  keep  help, 
nor  to  let  her  do  the  work  as  she  was  able  to  do  it.  With 
it  all,  however,  she  tried  patiently  to  explain  and  arrange. 
Something  had  to  be  done. 

"  I  know  you  have  to  make  a  living,  John,  and  I  often 
think  that  I  must  let  you  do  it  in  your  own  way,  but  there 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         289 

are  so  many  things  that  are  getting  into  a  snarl  while  we 
try  it  this  way.  We  don't  have  much  home  with  stran- 
gers at  our  table  every  day  in  the  year.  We  never  have  a 
meal  alone.  I  wouldn't  mind  that,  but  it  makes  more 
work  than  I  am  able  to  do,  it  is  getting  you  into  debt 
deeper  every  month  to  pay  their  wages,  and  you  don't 
know  how  hard  it  is  going  to  be  to  pay  those  debts  a  few 
years  from  now.  But  that  isn't  the  worst  of  it  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  I  work  all  the  time  and  you  —  you  aren't 
satisfied  with  what  I  do  when  I  do  everything  my  strength 
will  let  me  do.  I  can't  do  any  more  than  I'm  doing 
either. " 

"I  am  satisfied  with  what  you  do,"  he  said  with  evi- 
dent annoyance  at  having  his  actions  and  words  remarked 
upon.  "Besides,  you  have  mother  to  help  you."  He 
had  ignored  her  remarks  upon  the  question  of  debts, 
determined  to  fasten  the  attention  elsewhere. 

The  little  ruse  succeeded,  for  Elizabeth's  attention  was 
instantly  riveted  upon  her  own  hopeless  situation. 

"It  isn't  much  help  to  run  the  girl  out  and  then  make  it 
so  hard  to  get  another  one,"  she  said  bitterly. 

Instantly  she  wished  she  had  not  said  it.  It  was  true, 
but  she  wished  she  could  have  held  it  back.  John  did  not 
realize  as  she  did  how  hard  it  was  going  to  be  to  get 
another  girl.  She  had  not  told  him  of  Hepsie's  remarks 
nor  of  her  advice.  Elizabeth  was  not  a  woman  to  tattle,  and 
the  "old  woman"  Hepsie  had  referred  to  was  his  mother. 

"Don't  think  I'm  hard  on  her,  John.  If  we  could  only 
get  another  girl  I  wouldn't  care." 


290 

She  waited  for  him  to  speak,  and,  when  he  did  not  do  so, 
asked  hopelessly: 

"Don't  you  think  we  can  get  another  girl  pretty  soon  if 
we  go  a  good  ways  off  from  this  neighbourhood?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and  I  don't  want  to 
hear  anything  more  about  it  either,"  was  the  ungracious 

reply. 

"I  am  in  the  wrong.  You  will  hear  no  more  on  either 
subject." 

The  tone  was  earnest.  Elizabeth  meant  what  she  said. 
John  went  from  the  house  without  the  customary  good- 
bye kiss.  We  live  and  learn,  and  we  learn  most  when  \ve 
get  ourselves  thoroughly  in  the  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  ENNOBLED    BY    THE    REFLECTED     STORY    OF    ANOTHER'S 
GOODNESS    AND    LOVE" 

IT  WAS  on  a  Saturday,  three  weeks  after  Mrs. 
Hunter's  return,  that  Elizabeth  asked  to  make 
her  first  visit  with  the  baby. 

"Aunt  Susan  was  here  so  much  while  I  was  sick,  John, 
that  I  feel  that  we  must  go  to  see  them  to-morrow. " 

"Oh,  my  goodness!"  John  replied,  stepping  to  the 
cupboard  to  put  away  the  pile  of  plates  in  his  hands. 
"I'm  tired  enough  to  stay  at  home." 

They  had  just  finished  washing  the  supper  dishes 
together,  and  Elizabeth  considered  as  she  emptied  the 
dishpan  and  put  it  away.  She  had  been  refused  so  often 
that  she  rather  expected  it,  and  yet  she  had  thought  by 
the  cordiality  with  which  John  had  always  treated  Aunt 
Susan  that  he  would  be  reasonable  about  this  visit  now 
that  she  was  able,  and  the  baby  old  enough  to  go  out. 

Elizabeth  was  never  clear  about  a  difficulty,  nor  had  her 
defences  well  in  hand  upon  the  first  occasion.  With  those 
she  loved,  and  with  John  in  particular,  any  offence  had  to 
be  repeated  over  and  over  again  before  she  could  protect 
herself.  She  felt  her  way  slowly  and  tried  to  preserve  her 
ideals;  she  tried  to  be  fair.  She  could  not  tell  quickly 

291 


292         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

what  to  do  about  a  situation;  she  took  a  long  time  to  get 
at  her  own  attitudes  and  understand  them,  and  it  took  her 
still  longer  to  get  at  the  real  intentions  of  others.  As  she 
brought  out  her  cold-boiled  potatoes  and  began  to  peel 
them  for  breakfast,  she  reflected  that  Aunt  Susan  had 
come  as  regularly  to  see  them  as  if  she  had  always  been 
well  treated,  until  Mrs.  Hunter's  coming.  At  that  point 
the  visits  had  dropped  off. 

"Baby  is  nearly  three  months  old,  and  I  promised  Aunt 
Susan  that  I'd  take  him  to  see  her  the  first  place  I  took 
him.  We  owe  it  to  her,  and  I'm  not  going  to  neglect  her 
any  more.  We  can  leave  a  dinner  of  cold  chicken  and  pies 
for  the  men,  and  I'll  get  a  hot  supper  for  them  when  I 
come  home.  I'd  like  to  start  about  ten  o'clock. " 

It  sounded  so  much  as  if  it  were  all  settled  that  the  girl 
felt  that  it  really  was. 

"That  leaves  mother  here  alone  all  day,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  do  it,"  John  returned  with  equal  assurance. 

"Mother  can  go  with  us.  I  should  want  her  to  do  that, 
and  I'm  sure  Aunt  Susan  would." 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  passing  through  the  room  with  the 
broom  and  dustpan  and  paused  long  enough  to  say 
pleasantly: 

"Don't  count  on  me,  children.  I'll  take  care  of  myself 
and  get  the  men  a  hot  dinner  besides.  I'd  just  as  soon. " 

"We'd  like  to  have  you  go,  mother,  and  I'm  sure  Aunt 
Susan  would  want  us  to  bring  you,"  Elizabeth  replied 
with  a  little  catch  in  her  breath.  If  Mrs.  Hunter  refused 
to  go,  John  would  not  take  her  if  she  begged  on  her  knees. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         293 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  go.  I'll  get  the  dinner  though, 
and  you  needn't  hurry  back."  She  went  on  upstairs 
contentedly  and  with  the  feeling  that  she  had  arranged 
the  matter  to  everybody's  liking. 

"Let  her  get  the  dinner  then,"  Elizabeth  said,  exasper- 
ated. "I'll  leave  everything  ready  for  it." 

"I  shall  not  go  and  leave  her  alone  all  day.  She  has  a 
hard  enough  time  out  on  this  farm  without  getting  the 
feeling  that  we  care  as  little  as  that  for  her  comfort. 
Besides  that,  the  buggy  is  not  mended  yet." 

"We  can  go  in  the  lumber  wagon.  We  didn't  have  a 
buggy  till  long  after  we  were  engaged,"  Elizabeth  said, 
not  going  into  the  matter  of  leaving  his  mother  at  home, 
which  she  knew  would  be  useless. 

"  I  should  think  you'd  want  to  rest  when  you  did  get  a 
chance.  You  talk  all  the  time  about  having  too  much  to 
do,"  John  replied  evasively. 

"I  wouldn't  get  any  rest,"  Elizabeth  replied  quickly. 
"I'd  get  a  dinner  —  that's  what  I'd  have  to  do  if  I  stayed 
at  home.  I'd  be  on  my  feet  three  solid  hours  and  then 
have  to  nurse  the  baby.  That's  the  rest  I'd  have." 

"The  devil!"  was  the  answer  she  got  as  John  went  out. 

The  weeks  flew  past,  and  still  Elizabeth  served  hot 
dinners  and  mourned  in  secret  over  Susan  Hornby's 
neglected  kindness.  Aunt  Susan  had  been  cheerful  as 
well  as  discreet  during  those  weeks  when  she  had  helped 
them.  She  had  been  so  happy  over  the  evident  friendli- 
ness of  John  Hunter  that  she  had  felt  sure  that  the  old 
cordiality  was  to  be  resumed. 


294         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

After  what  seemed  to  Elizabeth  endless  weeks,  a 
curious  circumstance  aided  her  in  getting  to  Aunt  Susan's 
in  the  end.  Mrs.  Hunter,  who  was  not  greatly  concerned 
about  her  disappointment,  heard  constant  reference  to 
Mrs.  Hornby's  assistance  at  the  time  of  the  baby's  com- 
ing, and  knowing  that  there  would  be  discussion  of  their 
neglect  to  her  in  the  neighbourhood,  joined  authori- 
tatively in  Elizabeth's  entreaty  the  next  time  it  was 
mentioned,  thereby  accomplishing  through  fear  of  gossip 
a  thing  which  no  amount  of  coaxing  on  Elizabeth's  part 
could  ever  have  done,  and  at  last  the  trip  was  to  be  made. 

Susan  Hornby's  home  was  so  unchanged  in  the  year 
that  Elizabeth  had  been  gone  that,  but  for  the  baby  in  her 
arms,  she  could  hardly  have  realized  that  she  had  been 
away.  Aunt  Susan  sent  her  to  the  bedroom  with  the 
wraps  when  they  were  taken  off.  It  was  the  same  little 
room  the  girl  had  occupied  for  half  that  year,  the  same 
rag  carpet,  the  same  mended  rocking  chair  which  had 
come  to  grief  in  the  cyclone,  and  the  knitted  tidy  which  the 
girl  herself  had  made.  With  the  hot  tears  running  down 
her  cheeks  the  girl-mother  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  and 
buried  her  face  in  the  baby's  wraps  to  stifle  the  cry  she 
was  afraid  would  escape  her.  In  the  sanctuary  of  her 
girlhood's  highest  hopes,  Elizabeth  sobbed  out  her  dis- 
appointments and  acknowledged  to  herself  that  life  had 
tricked  her  into  a  sorry  network  of  doubts  and  unsettled 
mysteries.  For  the  first  time  she  sunk  her  pride  and  let 
Susan  think  what  she  would  of  her  prolonged  absence, 
and  went  openly  to  the  kitchen  to  bathe  her  face  in 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         295 

Nathan's  familiar  tin  basin.  A  sudden  suspicion  of 
John's  reception  at  Nathan's  hands  made  it  possible  to 
go  back  to  Aunt  Susan  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

Indeed,  Elizabeth's  suspicions  were  so  far  true  that  they 
were  a  certainty.  Nathan,  by  Luther's  marriage  to  a 
woman  the  old  man  suspected  of  every  evil,  had  cut  him- 
self off  from  every  friend.  Nathan  had  been  thrown  in 
upon  himself  and  had  pondered  and  nursed  his  suspicions 
of  all  men,  and  of  John  Hunter  in  particular.  He  fin- 
ished the  milking  without  offering  to  go  into  the  house; 
and  John,  who  had  insisted  upon  coming  at  night  instead 
of  on  a  Sunday,  was  obliged  to  stand  around  the  cow 
stable  and  wait,  or  go  to  the  house  alone.  He  chose  the 
former  course  and  was  made  happy  by  the  arrival  of  Jake, 
who  had  not  known  where  his  employer  was  going  when 
his  team  was  hitched  to  the  wagon. 

"I've  just  been  over  to  Luther's,  Mrs.  Hornby,"  Jake 
said  when  they  finally  stood  around  Aunt  Susan's  fire. 
"Did  you  know  Sadie  was  sick?  Luther's  awful  good  to 
'er,  but  I  know  she'd  be  glad  t'  see  a  woman  body  about 
once  in  a  while." 

"Wisht  she'd  die  an*  get  out  of  th'  way,"  Nathan 
Hornby  said  bitterly.  "A  body  could  see  Luther  once  in 
a  while  then  'thout  havin'  'is  words  cut  up  an*  pasted 
together  some  new  way  for  passin'  round. " 

No  one  spoke,  and  Nathan  felt  called  upon  to  defend 
his  words. 

"I  don't  care!  It's  a  God's  pity  t'  have  a  woman  like 
that  carry  off  th'  best  man  this  country's  ever  had,  an* 


296         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

then  fix  up  every  word  'is  friends  says  t'  him  so's  t*  make 
trouble. " 

Nathan's  whole  bitter  longing  for  companionship  was 
laid  bare.  Elizabeth's  eyes  filled  with  tears;  Elizabeth 
was  lonely  also. 

The  call  was  a  short  one.  John  moved  early  to  go 
home  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  give  way.  It  was 
not  till  the  next  day  that  Elizabeth  suspected  that 
Nathan's  remarks  had  offended  John  Hunter,  and  then  in 
spite  of  her  eagerness  to  keep  the  peace  between  the  two 
men,  she  laughed  aloud.  She  was  also  somewhat  amused 
at  the  insistence  on  a  call  upon  Sadie  which  John  wanted 
that  she  should  make.  The  perfect  frankness  of  his 
announcement  that  Luther  was  a  convenient  neighbour, 
and  that  they  must  pay  neighbourly  attention  to  illness, 
when  he  had  never  encouraged  her  to  go  for  any  other 
reason,  was  a  new  viewpoint  from  which  the  young 
wife  could  observe  the  workings  of  his  mind.  Some- 
thing about  it  subtracted  from  her  faith  in  him,  and  in 
life. 

While  she  was  still  washing  the  dinner  dishes  John  came 
in  to  discuss  the  visit.  Elizabeth  was  athrob  with  the 
weariness  of  a  half  day  spent  at  the  ironing  table,  and  to 
avoid  dressing  the  baby  had  asked  Mrs.  Hunter  to  take 
care  of  him. 

With  no  other  visible  reason  but  his  customary  obsti- 
nacy, John  insisted  upon  the  child  being  taken. 

"I've  got  to  get  back  early  and  get  the  coloured  clothes 
folded  down.  Every  one  of  the  boys  had  a  white  shirt 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        297 

and  two  or  three  collars  this  week,  so  I  asked  mother  to 
keep  him  for  me,"  Elizabeth  said. 

"Now  see  here,"  John  argued.  "Mother  '11  fold  those 
clothes  and  you  can  just  as  well  take  him  along  and  make 
a  decent  visit.  They're  the  nicest  people  in  the  country, 
according  to  some  of  the  neighbours. " 

Elizabeth's  laugh  nettled  her  husband.  When  he 
appeared  with  the  wagon,  she  was  ready,  with  the  baby  in 
her  arms. 

The  wind  was  keen  and  cold,  the  laprobes  flew  and 
fluttered  in  derisive  refusal  to  be  tucked  in. 

"Take  the  buggy  in  and  have  it  mended  the  next  time 
you  go  to  town,"  she  said,  with  her  teeth  chattering,  as 
they  drew  near  to  Luther's  home.  "I  want  to  go  up  to 
see  ma  before  long  and  it's  almost  impossible  to  keep  a 
baby  covered  on  this  high  seat. "  She  thought  a  while  and 
then  added,  "  I  haven't  been  home  since  I  was  married." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  ever  want  to  go,"  John  re- 
plied ungraciously. 

Tears  of  anger  as  well  as  mortification  filled  her  eyes, 
and  her  throat  would  not  work.  It  was  to  stop  gossip  as 
much  a*  to  see  her  mother  that  the  girl  desired  to  make 
the  visit.  The  world  was  right:  John  was  not  proud  of 
her. 

The  sight  of  the  "shanty"  as  they  turned  the  corner 
near  Luther's  place  brought  a  new  train  of  thought. 
Dear,  kindly,  sweet-souled  Luther!  The  world  disap- 
proved of  his  marriage  too.  He  was  coming  toward  them 
now,  his  ragged  overcoat  blowing  about  him  as  he  jumped 


298         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

over  the  ridges  made  by  the  plow  in  turning  out  the  late 
potatoes  he  had  been  digging. 

"You  carry  the  baby  in  for  Lizzie,  an'  I'll  tie  these 
horses,"  he  said,  beaming  with  cordiality.  "Got  caught 
with  Sadie's  sickness  an'  let  half  th'  potatoes  freeze  's 
hard  's  brickbats." 

It  was  so  cold  that  Elizabeth  did  not  stand  to  ask  about 
Sadie,  but  turned  to  the  house  to  escape  the  blast. 

"I'll  come  for  you  at  five  if  I  can  get  back.  I'm  going 
over  to  see  about  some  calves  at  Warren's,"  John  said  as 
they  went  up  the  path. 

"  Is  that  why  you  insisted  that  I  bring  the  baby  ?  You 
needn't  have  been  afraid  to  tell  me;  you  do  as  you  please 
anyhow. " 

"H-s-sh!  Here  comes  Hansen,"  John  Hunter  said 
warningly,  and  turned  back  to  the  wagon,  giving  the  child 
into  Luther's  arms  at  the  door. 

Luther  Hansen  cuddled  the  child  warmly  to  him  and 
without  waiting  to  go  in  the  house  raised  the  white  shawl 
from  its  sleeping  face  for  a  peep  at  it. 

"We  lost  ours,"  he  said  simply. 

The  house  sheltered  them  from  the  wind,  and  Elizabeth 
stopped  and  looked  up  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"You  don't  mean  it?  I  —  I  didn't  know  you  were 
expecting  a  child,  Luther.  I'm  so  sorry.  I  wish  I'd 
known." 

The  expression  of  sympathy  escaped  her  unconsciously. 
Elizabeth  would  always  want  to  know  of  Luther's  joys 
and  sorrows. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         299 

A  glad  little  light  softened  the  pain  in  his  face,  and  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  steady  gaze,  discerning  the  feeling  of 
sound  friendship  behind  the  words. 

"I  believe  you  are,"  he  said,  expressing  the  confirma- 
tion of  a  thing  he  had  never  doubted.  "  I  ain't  askin'  you 
any  questions,  Lizzie,  I  just  know —  that's  all." 

With  something  like  a  glow  about  his  heart,  he  opened 
the  door  of  his  simple  dwelling.  He  had  never  doubted 
her,  nor  believed  the  nonsense  he  had  heard  about  her, 
but  he  had  just  had  his  faith  refreshed.  He  carried  the 
baby  to  the  one  little  bedroom  of  his  house,  scuffing  a 
wooden  rocking  chair  behind  him  across  the  rough  floor. 
He  established  Elizabeth  in  it  beside  Sadie,  and  then  plac- 
ing the  sleeping  child  in  it's  mother's  arms  went  back  to 
the  potato  field,  hurrying  his  work  to  finish  before  dark. 
He  understood  in  a  measure  why  this  was  Elizabeth's  first 
visit  to  them,  and  he  did  not  resent  it.  Luther  never 
resented.  He  lived  his  own  kindly,  industrious  life.  If 
people  did  not  like  Sadie  he  accepted  it  as  a  fact,  but  not  as 
a  thing  to  be  aggrieved  about.  He  could  wait  for  Sadie 
to  grow,  and  others  must  wait  also.  In  the  meantime, 
Luther  watched  Elizabeth  and  desired  growth  for  her;  her 
smallest  movement  was  of  interest  to  him.  Elizabeth  as  a 
mother  was  a  new  feature.  He  remembered  the  deft  way 
she  had  nestled  the  baby  to  her  as  he  had  relinquished  it 
a  few  moments  before,  and  thought  with  a  sigh,  of  the  cow- 
hide-covered trunk  filled  with  little  garments  under  the 
bed  by  which  she  sat.  Not  even  Sadie  knew  what  the  loss 
of  that  first  child  meant  to  Luther.  A  new  love  for 


300         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

women's  ways  with  babies  grew  up  in  him  as  he  thought 
of  Elizabeth's  cuddling. 

In  the  house,  Elizabeth  was  getting  into  touch  with  the 
young  mother  who  was  childless.  Sadie,  in  spite  of  a 
determination  not  to  do  so,  was  warming  to  that  touch 
reluctantly.  After  all,  it  was  pleasant  to  be  telling  Eliza- 
beth about  it,  and  to  have  her  asking  as  if  she  wanted  to 
know. 

"Yes  —  I  took  bad  about  a  week  ago,"  she  was  saying. 
"I'd  been  kind  of  miserable  for  several  days.  I  got  a  fall 
that  last  rain  we  had,  an'  I  didn't  seem  t'  get  over  it." 

"  I'd  have  come  sooner  if  I'd  known  it, "  Elizabeth  said, 
thinking  of  Luther's  acceptance  of  a  similar  statement. 
"Jake  didn't  even  tell  us  last  night  what  was  the  matter. " 

"I  guess  he  didn't  know.  Would  you  'a'  come  if  you'd 
'a*  known,  Lizzie?"  Before  Elizabeth  could  reply,  she  con- 
tinued, "Ma  used  t'  think  it'd  be  kind  o'  nice  for  me  t'  live 
close  t'  you,  but  I  knew  you  wouldn't  never  come  t'  see 
me.  I  used  t'  be  kind  o'  jealous  cause  Luther  liked  you  s' 
much.  I  said  everything  mean  I  could  think  of  about 
you,  t'  him  —  but  law!  Luther  ain't  got  no  pride.  He 
don't  care.  He  defends  you  from  everybody,  whether 
you  come  t'  see  us  'r  not." 

It  was  a  curious  little  confession  and  one  Sadie  had  not 
intended  to  make.  Something  big  and  sweet  in  Elizabeth 
had  forced  it  from  her.  It  embarrassed  Elizabeth  Hunter, 
and  it  held  things  which  could  not  be  discussed,  and  she 
turned  the  subject  without  answering. 

"When  did  you  lose  the  baby?" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         301 

"Oh,  it  only  lived  a  couple  of  hours.  You  see  it  was  too 
soon  an'  —  an'  it  wasn't  right.  Th'  doctor  didn't  expect 
it  t'  live  as  long  as  it  did,  but  Luther  would  have  it  that 
it  could,  an'  kept  'em  a  tryin'  everything  that  could  be 
thought  of." 

Sadie's  voice  died  away  gradually  and  she  lay  looking 
out  of  the  window  retrospectively:  the  last  two  weeks  had 
brought  food  for  much  thinking. 

"I  didn't  know,  Lizzie,  that  a  man  could  be  as  good  as 
Luther.  I'd  always  kind  o'  hated  men,  an'  I  thought  I'd 
have  t'  fight  my  way  through,  like  th'  rest  of  th'  women, 
an'  —  an'  —  he's  that  good  an'  thoughtful  of  me,  an'  of 
everybody  else,  that  I'm  clean  ashamed  of  myself  half  th' 
time.  He  nearly  had  a  fit  when  he  found  out  that  I'd 
slipped  with  that  wood.  'Twas  ironing  day,  an'  th'  box 
got  empty  —  an'  then,  when  th'  baby  died,  it  just  seemed 
as  if  he  couldn't  stand  it. " 

She  looked  up  at  Elizabeth  earnestly:  "I  never  heard 
any  one  but  th'  preacher  pray  out  loud,  Lizzie,  an'  —  an' 
—  somehow  —  well,"  she  stumbled,  "Luther  prayed  so 
sweet,  when  he  see  it  was  gone  —  I  —  I  ain't  thought  of 
much  else  since.  It  —  it  seemed  like  th'  baby'd  done 
something  good  t'  both  of  us. " 

The  spiteful,  pettish  face  was  for  the  moment  ennobled 
by  the  reflected  glory  of  another's  goodness  and  love. 
Elizabeth  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  condition  which  makes 
heaven  here  upon  earth.  There  was  the  harmony  here 
in  the  "shanty"  such  as  she  coveted  and  strove  in  vain  to 
establish  in  her  own  home.  Of  course  there  would  be 


302         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

harmony  where  Luther  Hansen  was  concerned:  Luther 
was  harmony.  Ignoring  his  part  in  the  little  drama,  she 
was  wise  enough  to  touch  the  other  side  of  the  story  in 
her  reply. 

"These  little  ones  bring  blessings  all  their  own,  Sadie," 
she  said,  giving  the  hand  on  the  patchwork  quilt  a  little 
squeeze. 

There  was  that  in  the  impulsive  little  touch  which  was 
to  be  a  lasting  reminder  to  Sadie  Hansen  that  Elizabeth 
Hunter  responded  to  the  things  which  were  making  of  her 
life  a  different  story.  They  had  found  common  ground, 
where  neither  scoffed  at  the  other. 

"Did  your  baby  make  you  feel  that  way?"  she  asked 
earnestly. 

When  Luther  came  at  five  o'clock  to  say  that  John  was 
waiting  he  found  them  at  peace,  with  the  baby  between 
them. 

Luther  tucked  Elizabeth  and  her  child  into  the  unpro- 
tected wagon  seat  with  concern. 

"This  wind's  a  tartar.  Pull  th'  covers  down  tight  over 
its  face,  Lizzie.  What's  become  of  th'  buggy,  Hunter?" 

Luther  saw  Elizabeth's  face  harden  in  a  sudden  contrac- 
tion of  pain,  and  glanced  across  at  John,  but  whatever 
there  was  about  it  that  hurt  belonged  to  Elizabeth  alone, 
for  John  Hunter  pulled  at  the  flapping  laprobes  without 
seeming  to  have  heard  clearly  and  evidently  thinking  that 
the  remark  was  addressed  to  his  wife.  Dusk  was  falling, 
and  Luther  watched  them  drive  away  with  a.  premonition 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         303 

of  trouble  as  the  night  seemed  to  close  in  about  them.  He 
turned  his  back  to  the  wind  and  stood  humped  over,  peer- 
ing through  the  evening  at  their  disappearing  forms.  He 
saw  Elizabeth  snatch  at  the  corner  of  the  robe  as  they 
turned  into  the  main  road,  and  dug  his  own  hands  deeper 
into  his  pockets  with  his  attention  turned  from  Elizabeth 
and  her  possible  trouble  to  that  of  the  child. 

"Hope  th'  little  feller  don't  ketch  cold. "  He  turned  to 
the  house  filled  with  his  vision  of  a  baby  being  cuddled 
close  in  a  mother's  arms,  and  with  a  new  understanding  of 
the  comfort  of  such  cuddling.  His  breath  flew  before  him 
in  a  frosty  stream  when  he  entered  the  kitchen,  and  he 
hastened  to  build  a  fire  and  set  the  teakettle  on  to  heat. 
He  lighted  a  lamp  and  set  it  on  a  chair,  and  also  stirred  the 
fire  in  the  little  stove  in  Sadie's  room  before  he  went  to 
milk. 

/ 

"  Wisht  Lizzie  'd  come  oftener.  Wonder  why  she  don't. 
She  don't  seem  near  as  stuck-up  as  she  used  to.  Say, 
Luther,  Lizzie  told  me  th'  queerest  thing:  she  says  th'  way 
a  mother  feels  before  a  baby's  born  makes  a  difference. 
She  says  if  a  woman's  mean  before  a  child  comes  it'll 
make  th'  young  one  mean  too.  She  told  a  lot  of  things 
that  showed  it's  true,  about  folks  we  know?  I  wonder 
how  she  learns  everything?  Ain't  she  smart!  I  wisht 
she'd  come  oftener.  Say,  if  I  ever  get  that  way  again 
"  The  sentence  was  unfinished. 

"Wisht  ours  'd  'a'  lived,"  Luther  said  longingly. 

"Did  Lizzie's  baby  make  you  feel  that  way  too?" 

Luther  went  to  milk  with  a  song  in  his  heart.     The 


3o4         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

little  word  "too"  told  more  than  all  the  discussions  they 
had  ever  had.  Sadie  had  not  been  pleased  about  the 
coming  of  the  child  they  had  lost. 

"If  I  could  get  'em  together  more,"  he  said  wistfully. 
"It  was  a  good  thing  t'  have  'er  see  Lizzie  an'  'er  baby 
together.  I  hope  th'  little  Tad  don't  ketch  cold.  That 
laprobe  didn't  stay  tucked  in  very  well." 

As  he  rose  from  milking  the  last  cow,  his  mind  went 
back  to  his  visitors. 

"Somethin'  hurt  Lizzie  about  th'  buggy  'r  somethin'  — 
she's  too  peaked  for  her,  too." 

Luther's  premonitions  about  the  Hunter  baby  were 
only  too  well  founded.  The  cold  was  not  serious,  but 
there  was  a  frightened  skirmish  for  hot  water  and  lubri- 
cants before  morning.  The  hoarse  little  cough  gave  way 
under  the  treatment,  but  the  first  baby's  first  cold  is 
always  a  thing  of  grave  importance  to  inexperienced 
parents,  and  Elizabeth  knew  that  her  chances  of  getting 
to  go  home,  or  any  other  place,  that  winter,  were  lessened. 
Her  growing  fear  of  neighbourhood  criticism  outgrew  her 
fear  of  refusal,  however,  and  at  the  end  of  the  next  week 
she  reminded  her  husband  that  she  had  planned  to  take 
the  child  to  see  her  mother. 

"You  may  be  willing  to  take  that  child  out  again;  Pm 
not,"  he  replied  severely. 

A  bright  idea  struck  Elizabeth's  imagination  after  she 
had  gone  to  bed  that  night.  Why  not  ask  her  own  family, 
the  Chamberlains,  Aunt  Susan's,  and  Luther  Hansen's  to  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        305 

Thanksgiving  dinner?  She  was  so  elated  by  the  idea  that 
she  could  hardly  get  to  sleep  at  all,  and  before  she  could  set- 
tle herself  to  rest  she  had  killed  in  her  imagination  the  half 
dozen  or  more  turkeys  she  had  raised  that  season.  A  big 
dinner  given  to  those  who  could  act  as  mouthpieces  would 
silence  a  lot  of  talk;  also,  it  would  take  away  a  certain 
questioning  look  the  girl  feared  in  Luther's  and  Aunt 
Susan's  eyes.  The  latter  was  the  sorest  point  of  her 
married  life,  and  the  conviction  that  they  were  thinking 
much  worse  things  than  were  true  did  not  make  her  any 
more  comfortable.  All  Sunday  she  planned,  and  Sunday 
night  went  to  bed  with  the  first  secret  thought  she  had 
ever  harboured  from  her  husband's  knowledge. 

Mrs.  Hunter  entered  into  the  plan  with  zest  when  on 
Monday  afternoon  it  became  necessary  to  tell  her.  She 
had  begun  to  love  her  son's  wife  in  spite  of  her  family 
history.  Had  Elizabeth  known  how  to  manage  it  she 
could  have  made  of  John's  mother  a  comfortable  ally,  but 
Elizabeth,  with  characteristic  straightforwardness,  sought 
no  alliance  except  the  natural  one  with  her  husband. 
The  two  women  planned  the  articles  to  be  served  in  the 
dinner,  and  then  turned  to  the  discussion  of  other  prepara- 
tions about  the  house.  Elizabeth  was  proud  of  the  home 
of  which  she  was  a  part,  but  her  strength  was  limited 
since  baby's  coming,  and  after  looking  about  her  critically 
decided  that  there  would  be  no  necessity  for  any  more 
cleaning  than  the  regular  weekly  amount. 

"We'll  have  to  get  the  cleaning  done  on  Wednesday 
instead  of  Friday,  but  I  think  that  will  be  all  that  will  be 


306         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

needed.  The  carpets  were  put  down  fresh  the  week  before 
you  came  home,  and  I  don't  intend  to  take  them  up  again 
till  spring." 

"I  think  so,"  Mrs.  Hunter  agreed,  "but  you'll  have  to 
have  the  curtains  in  the  dining  room  washed,  and  the 
tidies  and  pillow-shams  done  up  fresh." 

"Now,  mother!"  Elizabeth  exclaimed,  "don't  begin  to 
lay  out  work  I  can't  get  done.  The  tidies  are  not  hard, 
and  I  could  do  the  shams,  but  those  curtains  are  not  to  be 
thought  of.  I'd  be  so  tired  if  I  had  to  go  to  work  and 
wash  all  that,  after  the  washing  I  put  on  the  line  to-day, 
that  I  just  wouldn't  be  able  to  get  the  dinner  on  the  table 
Thursday.  Talking  about  the  dinner,  I  think  we'd  better 
have  two  turkeys.  I  can  roast  two  by  putting  them  in  the 
one  big  pan." 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  willing  that  the  younger  woman 
should  prove  her  talent  as  a  cook,  but  she  planned  to  take 
some  of  the  necessary  things  upon  her  own  shoulders,  and 
to  take  her  son  into  her  schemes  for  brightening  things  up 
a  bit.  Accordingly,  the  next  morning  she  asked  John  to 
help  her  take  the  curtains  down. 

Elizabeth  had  been  so  full  of  her  own  plans  that  she  had 
forgotten  to  tell  John's  mother  that  she  intended  to  keep 
them  secret  till  she  had  all  her  preparations  made. 
The  next  morning  when  she  heard  the  thud  of  some 
one  stepping  down  from  a  chair,  and  her  husband  say: 
"There  you  are!  How  do  you  happen  to  be  taking  the 
curtains  down  at  this  time  of  the  week?"  she  realized 
as  she  had  never  done  before  how  much  afraid  of  him  she 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         307 

really  was,  for  her  pulses  bounded,  and  her  ears  boomed 
like  cannon,  long  before  John  had  time  to  appear  in  the  door 
to  inquire  who  was  coming,  and  why  they  were  to  do  so. 

With  a  look  very  much  like  guilt,  Elizabeth  told  over  the 
names  of  her  proposed  guests,  but  with  Mrs.  Hunter  in  the 
next  room  she  could  not  tell  him  why  it  meant  so  much  to 
her  to  ask  these  people  to  dine  with  them. 

The  customary  protest  was  offered  without  delay. 

"I  don't  believe  I'd  do  it,  dear.  Thanksgiving  is  a  day 
for  home  folks,  not  neighbours,  and,  besides,  see  all  the 
work  it  will  make. " 

"The  work  is  just  what  we  choose  to  make  it.  If  I'd 
known  mother  was  going  to  clean  house  I  wouldn't  have 
said  anything  about  it,"  Elizabeth  answered  sullenly. 

"Sh!"  John  Hunter  said  in  a  low  tone  and  with  a  look 
of  anger  that  was  direct  and  full  of  meaning. 

Elizabeth  was  ready  to  cry.  She  was  angry.  In  every 
move  she  made  she  was  checkmated;  not  because  it  was 
not  a  good  move,  but  because  it  was  hers.  She  could 
readily  have  given  up  any  one  thing  as  it  came  along,  but 
the  true  meaning  and  spirit  of  these  interferences  were 
beginning  to  dawn  upon  her.  However,  once  more  she 
yielded  to  the  unreasonable  wishes  of  her  husband  and  the 
dinner  was  given  up.  She  made  no  attempt  to  finish  the 
mincemeat  they  had  planned  to  chop  after  dinner,  but 
after  putting  the  baby  to  sleep  threw  a  shawl  about  her 
and  slipping  out  of  the  house  ran  to  the  barn  and  down  the 
creek  in  the  pasture  while  John  was  helping  his  mother 
rehang  the  freshly  ironed  curtains. 


3o8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

They  were  only  having  two  meals  a  day  now  that  the 
corn  was  all  picked,  and  dinner  came  so  late  in  the  after- 
noon that  there  was  already  a  blaze  of  sunset  colour  in  the 
west  as  she  passed  around  the  barn  and  started  down  the 
bank  of  the  stream.  The  sun  had  set,  but  was  still  re- 
flected on  the  heaps  of  billowy  gray  clouds  just  above  the 
horizon.  It  made  the  snow  in  front  of  her  a  delicate  pink. 
The  girl  had  not  got  far  enough  from  the  house  to  see  a 
sunset  for  months.  The  freshness  and  keenness  of  the 
air,  the  colours  in  the  sky,  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  of 
it  all  chased  away  her  anger  and  left  her  in  a  mood  to 
reason  over  her  situation.  She  followed  the  cow-path 
down  to  the  bed  of  the  stream  and  then  threaded  her  way 
along  its  winding  route  for  a  greater  distance  than  she  had 
ever  gone  before.  A  broken  willow  barred  her  way  after 
a  time,  and  she  climbed  up  on  its  swaying  trunk  and  let 
her  feet  dangle  over  the  frozen  streamlet  below.  The 
snow  made  lighter  than  usual  the  early  evening  and 
extended  the  time  she  could  safely  stay  so  far  from  the 
house. 

The  colours  faded  rapidly  from  the  sky  and  the  bewil- 
dered girl  returned  to  her  own  affairs,  which  were  puzzling 
enough.  Of  late  she  had  found  herself  unable  to  maintain 
her  enthusiasm.  She  found  herself  increasingly  irritable 
—  from  her  standpoint  the  one  thing  most  to  be  despised 
in  others  and  which  she  had  supposed  most  impossible  in 
herself.  There  were  so  many  unforeseen  possibilities 
within  herself  that  she  devoted  her  entire  attention  to  her 
own  actions  and  impulses,  and  was  completely  drawn 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         309 

away  from  the  consideration  of  the  motives  of  others  by 
her  struggle  with  the  elemental  forces  in  which  she  found 
herself  engulfed.  The  temper  aroused  by  John's  objec- 
tion to  her  Thanksgiving  company  had  indications  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  controlled  it.  Elizabeth 
knew  that  she  had  but  barely  kept  her  speech  within  the 
limits  of  kindliness  and  consideration  for  Mrs.  Hunter, 
who  had  not  wished  to  frustrate  her  plans  at  all,  and  she 
knew  that  she  would  be  less  likely  to  do  so  if  the  offence 
were  repeated.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Hunter  tried  with 
real  honesty  of  purpose  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  her, 
and  yet  she  also  knew  that  she  was  increasingly  annoyed 
with  whatever  she  did.  There  was  an  element  of  un- 
fairness in  her  attitude  toward  the  older  woman  which 
alarmed  her. 

"I'm  just  like  pa,  after  all,"  she  thought  as  she  swung 
her  feet  and  looked  in  a  troubled  way  down  at  the  frozen 
stream  below. 

Elizabeth  reflected  that  when  Aunt  Susan,  or  Silas,  or 
Luther  Hansen  came  into  the  house  she  became  instantly 
her  own  buoyant,  optimistic  self:  not  that  she  intention- 
ally feigned  such  feelings  for  the  benefit  of  her  company, 
but  she  felt  the  presence  of  trust,  of  faith  in  herself  and  her 
powers.  She  did  not  recognize  that  such  trust  was  neces- 
sary to  the  unfoldment  of  character,  nor  even  that  it  was 
her  birthright. 

The  girl  watched  the  gathering  twilight  and  deliberately 
let  the  time  pass  without  attempting  to  return  to  the 
house  until  compelled  to  do  so  by  real  darkness,  realizing 


3io         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  some  beneficial  thing  was  happening  in  her  in  this 
free  out-of-doors  place,  for  she  was  less  annoyed  and  more 
analytical  with  each  breath  she  drew  in  it. 

"If  only  I'd  take  time  to  do  this  sort  of  thing  I'd  be 
more  as  I  ought  to  be,"  she  meditated  when  she  had  at 
last  risen  to  go  home.  "I  won't  be  like  pa!  I  won't!  I 
won't!"  she  reiterated  many  times  as  she  walked  back 
over  the  frozen  cow-path.  "  I'll  come  here  every  few  days. 
Ma  and  pa,  were  born  to  be  happy,  only  they  never  took 
time  to  be. " 

And  though  John  was  cross  because  the  baby  had  cried 
in  her  absence,  Elizabeth  felt  that  she  had  been  helped  by 
getting  away  from  him.  She  accepted  her  husband's 
reproaches  without  reply,  and  was  able  to  forget  them 
even  while  they  were  still  issuing  from  his  mouth.  She 
kept  her  temper  down  all  that  week,  and  though  the 
Thanksgiving  invitations  were  not  sent,  she  cooked  the 
dinner  and  put  as  many  hours  into  its  concoction  as  if  she 
had  had  all  the  people  she  had  hoped  to  have  about  her 
board  to  eat  it,  and  she  was  so  sunny  and  natural  as  she 
served  it  that  John  did  not  even  guess  that  she  was  govern- 
ing herself  consciously.  She  stayed  at  home  the  next 
Sunday  and  the  next,  and  John  Hunter  was  unaware  that 
she  was  endeavouring  to  surrender  herself  to  his  will. 

"She'll  get  over  wanting  to  run  somewhere  all  the 
time,"  he  told  his  mother,  and  Mrs.  Hunter,  to  whom 
these  people  were  not  pleasing,  agreed  with  him,  and 
thought  that  it  was  just  as  well  if  it  were  so,  not  realizing 
that  the  girl  lived  alone  in  their  house  and  that  she  might 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         311 

have  an  attitude  toward  these  people  distinctly  different 
from  theirs. 

This  winter,  like  the  preceding  one,  passed  with  Eliza- 
beth at  home.  There  was  no  peace  to  be  had  if  she  thought 
of  going  anywhere  for  any  purpose  whatever.  Elizabeth 
went  nowhere  and  required  few  clothes.  The  cold  the 
child  had  caught  on  that  first  trip  to  Luther's  was  suffi- 
cient excuse  to  prevent  any  further  foolishness  on  the  part 
of  its  mother.  However,  a  trip  to  town  was  in  waiting  for 
Elizabeth  Hunter  and  was  proposed  by  John  Hunter  him- 
self. 

There  had  been  a  "warm  spell"  in  the  month  of  Febru- 
ary and  John  had  asked  Elizabeth  to  help  him  with  the 
pump  in  the  barnyard,  which  had  been  working  badly  for 
days.  It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  Jake  and  the  other 
hired  man  had  been  granted  time  off  that  day;  the  pump 
had  refused  to  work  at  all  after  they  were  gone,  and  with  a 
hundred  cattle  waiting  for  water  it  was  necessary  to 
impress  any  one  available  with  the  duty  of  helping. 
Elizabeth  was  more  than  willing  to  help :  it  meant  a  couple 
of  hours  out  of  doors.  They  had  worked  industriously 
and  their  efforts  were  about  crowned  with  success  when 
Mrs.  Hunter  came  out  to  them  with  the  baby  wrapped  in 
a  warm  shawl.  John  tossed  aside  the  extra  piece  of 
leather  he  had  cut  from  the  top  of  an  old  boot  and  fitted 
the  round  piece  in  his  hand  about  the  sucker. 

"Now,  mother,  you  shouldn't  bring  that  child  out  here; 
you'll  have  him  sick  on  our  hands  again, "  he  said. 

"Oh,  lots  of  children  go  out  of  doors  in  winter.     I  took 


3i2         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

you  out  whenever  I  wanted  to,  and  you've  lived  to  tell  the 
tale,"  his  mother  said  easily,  seating  herself  on  the  end  of 
the  trough. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  anything  to  happen  to  him  for  a 
few  days,  I  can  tell  you.  I  want  you  to  keep  him  and  let 
Elizabeth  go  in  to  town  with  me  and  sign  the  mortgage  on 
this  eighty,  Monday,"  John  replied,  examining  the  valve 
with  great  attention. 

"Why,  I  thought  this  eighty  was  already  mortgaged!" 
Mrs.  Hunter  exclaimed. 

"Well,  it  is,"  John  replied  uneasily,  "but  I've  got  to 
raise  the  interest  before  I  can  get  that  bunch  of  shoats 
ready  to  sell,  and  I've  got  to  do  it  that  way." 

He  did  not  look  at  either  of  the  two  women,  but  kept 
himself  very  busy  about  the  rod  and  sucker  he  was  ma- 
nipulating. 

Mrs.  Hunter  seldom  remarked  upon  anything  that  was 
done  about  the  farm,  but  this  was  surprising  news.  A 
second  mortgage  on  part  of  the  land!  She  had  just  opened 
her  mouth  to  speak,  when  she  happened  to  glance  across 
at  her  daughter-in-law.  Elizabeth's  face  was  white. 
Something  in  it  implored  Mrs.  Hunter  to  go  away,  to 
leave  them  to  have  the  matter  out  together,  and  the  older 
woman  took  her  cue  from  it  and  went  with  a  haste  which 
caused  her  son  to  look  up  from  the  piston  with  which  he 
fumbled. 

"She's  gone  to  the  house;  I  motioned  to  her  to  go," 
Elizabeth  announced.  "She  don't  know  much  about 
mortgages,  but  she  knows  this  won't  do.  You  told  me 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         313 

last  week  that  the  hogs  would  be  ready  in  time.  My  soul 
alive,  John!  do  you  realize  what  you  are  doing?  This  is 
the  home-eighty!  What's  happened  to  the  hogs?" 

"Say,  look  here!  If  I  want  to  mortgage  this  eighty, 
I'm  going  to  do  it.  Those  hogs  are  just  where  it  pays  to 
feed  them.  If  I  sell  now,  I'll  lose  half  the  profits. " 

John  got  up  and  faced  her  ready  to  fight,  if  fight  he  must 
on  this  question.  He  had  chosen  an  opportune  time  to 
tell  it,  but  he  meant  to  do  as  he  wished  about  those  hogs 
and  the  land  and  whatever  else  they  possessed.  He  hated 
to  open  a  discussion,  but  he  did  not  hate  to  continue  one 
after  he  had  made  the  plunge.  He  had  feasible  reasons 
for  all  that  he  did. 

Elizabeth  saw  that  he  meant  to  insist  and  she  resented 
the  deception  he  had  practised  in  securing  this  loan  with- 
out telling  her,  but  the  danger  was  so  great  that  she  could 
not  afford  to  let  her  feelings  blind  her,  nor  to  put  the  thing 
in  a  bad  light  by  seeming  to  wrangle  about  it.  She  looked 
at  him  steadily,  so  steadily,  in  fact,  that  John  was  dis- 
concerted. The  work  in  hand  gave  excuse  for  withdraw- 
ing his  eyes  and  Elizabeth  watched  him  arrange  the  knot 
of  the  rope  so  that  they  could  lower  the  pipe  back  into 
the  well.  The  girl  did  not  begin  to  speak  at  once:  she 
marshalled  her  forces  and  considered  what  manner  of 
argument  she  would  put  forth.  She  knew  that  every 
piece  of  land  they  possessed  except  the  Mitchell  County 
pastures  was  covered  with  one  third  of  its  value  in  incum- 
brances.  If  the  interest  was  hard  to  meet  now,  what 
would  it  be  three  years  hence  ?  She  had  come  to  under- 


3 14        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

stand  that  the  man  she  had  married  was  not  a  farmer. 
She  helped  him  lower  the  long  pipe  into  the  well,  and 
watched  him  try  the  pump  handle  to  see  if  the  sucker 
would  work.  It  was  slow  in  drawing,  and  she  filled  a 
small  pail  from  the  trough  and  poured  it  into  the  pump 
head.  After  a  few  sputtering  strokes  the  water  began  to 
come  freely,  and  then  she  had  to  wait  for  the  pumping  to 
stop  before  she  could  make  herself  heard  above  its  rum- 
blings. 

John  Hunter  knew  perfectly  well  that  Elizabeth  was 
waiting  and  prolonged  the  work  till  the  great  trough  was 
full.  When  it  began  to  overflow  and  there  was  no  further 
need  for  drawing  water,  he  turned  abruptly  toward  the 
gate  where  the  cattle  were.  Elizabeth  had  waited  in  the 
frosty  air  till  she  was  chilled  from  standing  and  could  not 
remain  for  the  stock  to  drink  before  she  had  a  chance  to  go 
to  the  house. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  before  those  cattle  come  out 
here,"  she  said,  more  hurt  by  his  avoidance  of  her  now 
than  she  had  been  by  the  original  deception;  he  was  really 
ignoring  her  as  a  factor  in  their  mutual  affairs.  "  I  have  to 
protest  against  this  mortgage,  John.  We  ought  to  keep  a 
small  home  free  at  least,  and  instead  of  putting  more  on 
this  eighty  we  ought  to  sell  enough  of  the  stuff  to  pay  off 
on  this  part.  Every  farmer  in  this  country  has  his  nose 
on  the  interest  grindstone,  and  my  life  has  been  spoiled 
with  it  ever  since  I  can  remember.  Please,  dear,  let's  not 
put  a  second  mortgage  on  this  eighty. " 

In  her  anxiety  to  get  John's  attention  Elizabeth  went 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         315 

forward  and  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  forgetting  in  her 
earnestness  the  slight  he  had  just  shown  toward  her  in 
ignoring  her  claims  to  a  voice  in  the  matter. 

John  Hunter  shook  off  the  detaining  hand  impatiently. 

"  If  you're  going  to  run  this  business  you  may  as  well  do 
it  without  my  help  and  I'll  quit, "  he  said,  his  body  braced 
away  from  her  with  the  plain  intimation  that  he  preferred 
that  she  should  not  touch  him. 

Elizabeth  hesitated.  Her  impulse  was  to  turn  and 
leave  him  without  further  words,  but  the  farm,  their  future 
comfort,  the  whole  scheme  of  family  peace  and  harmony 
depended  upon  obtaining  a  hearing. 

"  I  don't  want  to  run  things  —  really,  I  do  not.  I've 
never  tried  to,  but  I've  lived  on  a  farm,  and  I  know  how 
impossible  it  is  ever  to  raise  a  mortgage  if  you  get  it  on  a 
place.  I  —  let's  sell  enough  to  raise  the  one  we  have  on 
this  eighty  while  we  can,  instead.  I'm  willing  to  live  on  a 
little ;  but,  oh,  John,  I  do  so  want  to  have  one  place  that  is 
our  own. " 

"There's  money  in  those  cattle,"  John  answered  sul- 
lenly. "A  woman  don't  know  anything  about  such 
things.  You'll  go  and  get  mother  started  on  it  too,  I 
suppose.  I'm  going  to  do  as  I  see  fit  about  it,  anyhow. 
I  know  there's  money  to  be  made  there. " 

With  a  great  sob  in  her  throat,  Elizabeth  turned  to  the 
house. 

"Look  here,  Elizabeth,"  John  called  after  her  peremp- 
^torily. 

Elizabeth  stopped  respectfully  to  listen,  but  she  did  not 


3i6         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

return  to  his  side.  John  waited,  thinking  she  would  come 
to  him. 

"Cattle  ain't  like  ordinary  farming,"  he  argued  with  a 
flush  of  anger.  "A  man  simply  has  to  take  time  to  let 
steers  grow  into  money.  We  haven't  been  at  it  a  long 
enough  time.  Those  big  steers  will  be  ready  to  feed  this 
fall,  and  corn's  going  to  be  cheap.  We'd  be  cutting  off 
our  noses  to  spite  our  own  faces  to  sell  now." 

"Perhaps,"  the  girl  replied  bitterly,  and  went  on  to  the 
house. 

She  knew  that  John  had  argued  with  the  hope  of  getting 
her  to  admit  herself  in  the  wrong,  not  to  hear  her  side  of 
the  case. 

John  Hunter  gazed  after  his  retreating  wife  in  vexed 
petulance  for  a  moment  and  then,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
turned  toward  the  waiting  cattle. 

"She'll  be  ready  when  I  want  to  go  to  town  all  the 
same,"  he  reflected. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MORTGAGES    OF    SOUL 

THE  mortgage  was  signed.  The  fine  weather  had 
brought  many  people  to  Colebyville.  Elizabeth 
had  not  been  in  town  for  a  year,  and  the  sight  of 
pleasant,  happy  folk  greeting  each  other  cordially  and 
wandering  from  store  to  store  bartering  eggs  and  butter 
for  groceries  and  family  necessities,  and  exchanging  ideas 
and  small  talk  about  their  purchases,  had  accentuated  her 
isolation.  Those  people  who  knew  her  spoke  to  her  also, 
but  with  an  air  of  suspicion  and  reserve.  A  puzzling 
feature  of  the  day  had  been  that  John  had  received  a  more 
cordial  reception  than  she  had.  The  main  suspicion  had 
been  directed  against  her.  There  seemed  to  be  a  certain 
acceptance  of  John's  "stuck-upness."  He  had  some  rea- 
son for  his  attitude  toward  them  which  they  were  in- 
clined to  accept,  but  Elizabeth  saw  that  to  this  community 
she  was  a  "beggar  on  horseback. "  Instead  of  seeing  that 
the  man  who  had  thrust  her  into  this  false  relation  was 
utterly  inadequate  to  realize  it,  or  that  if  he  realized  it  he 
was  utterly  indifferent  to  her  sufferings  in  it,  she  inquired 
into  her  own  failure  to  get  his  attention,  and  felt  that  he 
was  after  all  a  better  husband  than  any  she  had  ever 
known,  with  few  exceptions.  John  had  managed  to  add 

317 


3i8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

to  her  confusion  where  he  was  concerned  that  day  by  being 
floridly  insistent  upon  her  spending  a  generous  sum  upon 
her  purchases  and  taking  as  much  interest  in  what  she 
bought  as  a  woman.  There  had  been  so  much  to  buy  that 
Elizabeth's  economical  soul  had  been  torn  by  the  desire 
to  cut  down  the  expense.  The  baby  was  ready  for  short 
clothes  and  there  had  been  materials  for  little  dresses, 
stockings,  little  shoes,  a  hood  and  cloak,  to  get  for  him 
alone,  and  Elizabeth  saw  in  every  dollar  spent  a  dollar  lost 
at  interest-paying  time.  John  had  been  happy  and  genial 
on  the  way  home  and  had  altogether  treated  her  so  much 
better  than  her  mood  had  permitted  her  to  treat  him  that 
there  was  a  bit  of  self-accusation  in  her  meditations. 
Everything  had  gone  wrong.  The  waters  of  human 
affection  ran  everywhere  in  the  wrong  direction.  She 
desired  understanding  between  herself  and  her  husband; 
her  attitude  toward  the  community  in  which  they  lived 
had  been  one  of  friendliness,  her  attitude  toward  Aunt 
Susan  and  Luther  one  of  whole-hearted  love,  her  attitude 
toward  this  family  of  which  she  found  herself  a  part  that 
of  a  devoted  slave,  yet  nowhere  had  she  been  able  to  make 
proper  alliances.  Some  curious  defeating  element  had 
crept  into  every  relation  life  offered  her.  While  the  rest 
ate  supper  that  night,  Elizabeth,  who  had  no  appetite 
and  was  too  sick  with  a  sense  of  failure  to  eat,  nursed  her 
baby  and  meditated  upon  the  indications  of  the  day's 
occurrences.  Forgetting  her  surroundings,  she  drew  in  a 
fluttering,  sobbing  breath.  Jake  Ransom,  across  the  cor- 
ner of  the  table,  caught  the  sound  of  that  sob  and  flashed  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         319 

quick  glance  in  her  direction.  His  eyes  were  as  quickly 
withdrawn,  but  Elizabeth  knew  without  looking  up  that 
he  had  heard.  With  a  desire  to  escape  observation,  she 
made  an  excuse  of  putting  the  baby  away  and  went  to  the 
bedroom  with  the  child.  Slipping  him  into  his  little  night- 
dress she  made  him  comfortable  for  the  night,  after  which 
she  went  back  to  the  dining  room  to  keep  Jake  from  think- 
ing she  had  anything  to  cry  about.  There  was  an  added 
hum  of  voices,  and  she  went  in  with  some  curiosity. 

Silas  Chamberlain  stood  beside  the  stove  with  his  old 
cap  and  his  home-knit  mittens  under  his  arm,  while  he 
leaned  over  the  welcome  fire.  The  blues  were  gone 
instantly.  There  was  such  a  glad  light  in  her  eyes  as  she 
advanced  to  meet  him  that  Jake  Ransom  wondered  if  he 
had  been  mistaken  in  the  quivering  breath,  and  there  was 
such  genuine  pleasure  in  her  surprised  greeting  that  Silas 
Chamberlain  was  warmed  and  fed  by  it. 

"Where's  that  baby?"  he  demanded.  "You  ain't 
gone  an'  tucked  him  into  bed  this  time  o'  night,  have  you  ? 
I  come  special  t'  see  'im. " 

For  months  Elizabeth  had  wanted  to  see  Silas  and  the 
baby  in  a  "free  for  all  tumble"  and  her  eyes  danced  with 
delight  at  the  idea.  She  had  not  had  such  a  thrill  in 
many  weeks;  the  young  mother  spoke  in  every  line  of  her 
young  face.  As  if  by  magic  her  troubles  fell  away  from 
her.  Crooking  her  finger  beckoningly  at  the  old  man, 
she  crept  on  tiptoe  to  the  bedroom  door.  She  had  left  a 
lamp  lighted  in  the  room  and  it  was  possible  to  observe 
the  baby  without  him  being  aware  of  their  presence.  Silas 


320         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

had  crept  behind  her  like  an  Indian  stalking  a  deer,  and 
she  caught  his  suppressed  breath  as  she  turned  with  her 
finger  on  her  lips  at  the  door.  The  rest  of  the  group  trailed 
behind  with  anticipatory  grins. 

Master  John  Hunter  lay  on  the  bed,  very  wide  awake, 
making  sputtering  efforts  to  devour  his  thumb,  while  he 
kicked  his  little  feet  as  vigorously  as  the  confines  of  the 
pinning-blanket  would  allow. 

Silas  chuckled.  Hearing  a  noise  at  the  door,  the  heir 
of  the  house  rolled  his  head  on  his  pillow  till  his  mother's 
face  came  within  the  range  of  his  vision.  Her  absence 
that  day  had  made  the  child  more  than  usually  eager  for 
her  presence.  The  little  feet  kicked  more  wildly  than 
ever,  and  forgetting  the  generous  slice  of  thumb  still  to  be 
devoured,  he  grinned  such  a  vast  and  expansive  grin  that 
the  hand  to  which  the  thumb  was  attached,  being  free, 
joined  the  other  in  waving  salutations  of  such  joyful 
pantomime  that  the  object  of  his  industrious  beckonings, 
completely  carried  into  the  current,  rushed  at  him  and, 
sweeping  him  up  in  her  arms,  tossed  him  on  high  as  glee- 
fully as  if  she  had  not  been  weighed  down  by  care  but  a 
moment  before  the  old  man's  advent  into  the  room. 

"There,  Mr.  Chamberlain,  was  there  ever  another  like 
him?"  she  cried. 

Baby,  who  had  come  down  from  a  point  as  high  as  his 
mother's  arms  could  reach,  doubled  his  fat  little  body 
together  with  a  smothered,  squeezed  off  little  gurgle  of 
delight.  Silas  was  aquiver  with  sympathetic  glee.  Those 
were  not  the  days  when  babies  were  raised  by  scientific 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        321 

rules,  and  Silas  caught  the  child  from  its  mother's  arms 
and  repeated  the  tossing  process,  while  the  baby  shouted 
and  struggled.  At  last  the  three,  followed  by  the  family, 
retired  to  convenient  chairs  about  the  sitting-room  fire. 

"Now,  Jack  Horner,  you  can  pare  that  thumb  down  a 
leetle  more  if  you  want  t'.  You've  swallowed  enough  wind 
to  give  you  the  colic  for  a  day  or  two, "  Silas  said  when  the 
child  began  to  hiccough. 

Elizabeth  clapped  her  hands  delightedly. 

"You  have  named  the  baby!"  she  exclaimed. 

"How's  that?"  Silas  asked. 

"Oh,  John  can't  bear  to  have  him  called  Johnnie,  and 
John  is  too  awfully  old  for  him  now.  Little  Jack  Horner 
—  no,  Little  Jack  Hunter.  I'm  so  glad !  I  just  do  love  it; 
and  we  had  called  him  Baby  till  I  was  afraid  we'd  never 
quit  it,"  Elizabeth  said. 

They  kept  the  old  man  as  long  as  they  could  induce  him 
to  stay,  and  when  he  did  go  home  it  was  with  the  settled 
conviction  that  he  had  been  wanted.  He  described  the 
visit  enthusiastically  to  Liza  Ann  and  tried  to  induce  her 
to  go  over  to  see  Elizabeth  the  next  Sunday.  Silas  craved 
the  privilege  of  that  baby's  presence. 

"I  know,  Si,"  his  wife  replied,  "but  she  could  come  here 
if  she  wanted  to.  It's  her  fool  notions.  John  was  th' 
greatest  hand  t'  go  you  ever  saw  till  he  married  her,  an' 
now  he  don't  go  nowhere,  an'  when  I  asked  him  about  it, 
he  said  she  wasn't  well!  She's  as  well  as  any  woman 
that's  nursin',  an*  she's  got  his  mother  t'  help  'er  too. " 

"Well,  I  don't  pretend  t'  know  th'  why's  an'  th'  where- 


322         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

fores  of  it,  but  I  do  know  there  ain't  a  stuck-up  bone  in 
'er  body  —  I  don't  care  what  nobody  says,"  loyal  Silas 
Chamberlain  replied. 

The  new  mood  stayed  with  Elizabeth  Hunter  and  called 
for  much  perplexed  introspection.  It  had  been  a  per- 
plexing day.  There  was  no  reason  that  she  could  assign 
for  her  contradictory  actions.  She  found  herself  even 
softened  toward  John  and  able  to  enter  into  his  attempt 
to  be  sociable  after  Silas's  departure.  He  seemed  to  be 
anxious  to  set  himself  before  her  in  a  kindlier  light  and  she 
was  able  to  meet  the  attempt  as  he  wished.  Elizabeth 
lost  faith  in  herself  as  she  saw  her  apparent  whimsicalness 
and  began  to  lash  herself  into  line  as  John  and  his  mother 
wished.  She  asked  no  more  to  be  taken  places. 

In  May,  Luther  came  to  help  John  with  his  team,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  months  Elizabeth  saw  a  neighbour 
woman.  Luther  lifted  Sadie  down  from  the  high  seat 
with  as  much  care  as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 

"Sadie's  lonesome  at  the  house  alone  all  day,  an'  it  was 
good  of  you,  Lizzie,  t'  ask  'er,"  he  said  as  he  climbed  back 
into  the  wagon. 

Elizabeth  wanted  a  visit  with  Luther,  himself,  but  was 
less  fearful  of  a  day  with  Sadie  than  she  had  been.  She 
took  her  guest  into  the  house  and  at  the  sitting-room  door 
paused  to  point  to  Master  Jack,  who  sat  on  an  old  quilt 
with  a  pillow  at  his  back,  digging  his  little  heels  into  the 
floor  and  holding  out  dimpled  hands  imploringly. 

"You  darling  child!"  Sadie  cried,  going  down  on  her 
knees  at  his  side  and  hugging  him  till  he  sent  up  an  indig- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         323 

nant  howl.  "Isn't  he  cunnin'?  Isn't  he?"  she  cried, 
releasing  him  and  subsiding  into  a  doubled  figure  by  his 
side.  "Honestly,  Lizzie,  why  don't  you  bring  him  over?" 

She  looked  so  insistent,  that  she  had  to  be  answered. 

"I  don't  go  any  place,  Sadie,"  Elizabeth  answered 
truthfully 

"Is  it  so,  that  Mr.  Hunter  won't  take  you?"  Sadie 
asked,  and  then  at  sight  of  the  anger  in  Elizabeth's  face 
rose  to  her  knees  and  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm  hastily. 
"I  didn't  say  that  to  hurt;  honestly,  Lizzie,  I  didn't.  I'm 
trying  not  to  do  that  this  time. " 

Elizabeth's  indignation  was  cooled  slightly  by  the  genu- 
ineness of  the  speech,  but  she  did  not  understand  the  last 
sentence  till  her  eye  happened  to  fall  on  Sadie's  form.  In 
a  flash  she  saw  what  was  meant.  Forgetting  her  hurt, 
she  was  silent  from  pure  delight.  She  knew  what  a  child 
would  mean  in  that  home.  The  other  misunderstood  her 
silence  and  hastened  on  with  her  apologies : 

"Honest,  Lizzie,  I  didn't  want  to  hurt,  but  they  do  say 
such  mean  things  about  it  that  I  want  you  t'  know.  Why 
don't  you  ever  take  Mrs.  Hunter  and  th'  baby  and  go  t' 
meetin'?" 

Elizabeth's  face  went  white  as  she  realized  that  she 
must  continue  to  answer  since  she  had  begun. 

"I  don't  care  in  the  least  what  they  say,  Sadie,  and  I 
don't  want  you  ever  to  mention  this  to  me  again,"  she  said 
sternly. 

Sadie's  face  worked  in  silent  misery  till  she  could  con- 
trol her  voice. 


324         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"You  won't  be  mad  at  me,  Lizzie?  I  told  Luther  I 
wouldn't  be  mean  t'  nobody  till  it  was  born, "  she  said  with 
quivering  lip. 

Elizabeth  took  some  seconds  to  consider  the  thing  that 
had  been  told  to  her.  It  was  of  far  more  importance  than 
the  gossip  Sadie  had  just  hinted  at,  but  the  gossip  must  be 
answered  first. 

"  I  won't  be  mad  at  you  at  all,"  she  said  after  a  moment. 
"That  is,  I  won't  if  I  never  have  to  listen  to  such  things 
again.  I  don't  care  in  the  least,  if  I  don't  have  to  hear  it. 
Don't  ever  come  to  me  again  with  anything  that  anybody 
says.  Now,  then,  tell  me  about  yourself.  I  half  believe 
you're  glad  of  it." 

"Glad?"  Sadie  told  her  secret,  which  could  be  a  secret 
no  more.  Luther  had  wanted  the  child,  and  she  had  come 
to  the  point  of  wanting  it  for  his  sake,  and  the  sight  of 
chubby  Jack  Hunter  had  aroused  the  latent  mother  love 
in  her  till,  as  she  talked,  her  eyes  shone  with  the  brightness 
of  imaginative  maternity.  She  implored  Elizabeth  to 
come  to  her  aid  when  the  day  of  her  labour  arrived  in 
September,  and  rambled  along  telling  of  their  prepara- 
tions for  its  coming,  and  little  home  incidents,  disclosing  a 
home  life  of  so  sweet  a  character  that  if  Elizabeth  Hunter 
had  not  been  sincere  and  utterly  without  jealousy  she 
would  have  drawn  the  discussion  to  a  close. 

The  incident  had  a  peculiar  effect  upon  Elizabeth.  She 
began  really  to  like  Sadie,  and  all  her  old  desire  for  har- 
mony in  the  home  welled  up  in  her  anew.  The  old  atti- 
tude of  self-blame  was  assumed  also.  Here  was  Sadie 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         325 

Crane,  the  most  spiteful  girl  that  had  ever  been  raised  on 
these  prairies,  able  to  command  the  love  and  respect  of 
the  man  she  had  married,  to  do  things  because  her  hus- 
band desired  them,  even  so  difficult  a  thing  as  the  bearing 
of  children,  and  she,  Elizabeth,  had  failed  to  accomplish 
any  of  these  things.  There  was  a  renewed  resolve  to  be 
more  patient.  Elizabeth  hated  sulking,  and  the  re- 
membrance of  the  day  when  she  had  gone  to  sign  the 
mortgage  and  had  been  unable  to  respond  to  John's  good- 
humoured  willingness  to  get  abundant  supplies  because 
she  saw  the  money  going  out  so  fast  was  fixed  in  her  mind 
with  new  significance.  Here  was  Sadie  doing  the  things 
that  her  husband  wished  of  her  and  obtaining  not  only  his 
love  but  her  own  self-respect,  while  she,  Elizabeth,  was 
able  to  command  neither.  Instead  of  reasoning  upon 
the  differences  between  the  two  husbands,  Elizabeth  rea- 
soned on  the  differences  between  her  own  actions  and  those 
of  Sadie,  and  from  the  results  of  that  reasoning  entered 
upon  a  period  of  self-denial  and  abject  devotion  to  the 
man  of  her  choice.  John  Hunter  accepted  this  new  devo- 
tion with  satisfied  serenity,  and,  not  being  obstructed 
in  any  of  his  little  exactions,  became  more  cheerful  and 
agreeable  to  live  with.  This  added  to  Elizabeth's 
conviction  that  the  difficulty  had  been  somewhat 
within  herself.  She  ceased  to  ask  for  the  things  which 
caused  friction,  and  there  was  a  season  of  comparative 
peace. 

In  July,  however,  a  new  phase  of  the  old  difficulty  arose. 
Nathan  and  Susan  Hornby  were  driving  past  the  Hunter 


326        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

house  one  Sunday  afternoon.  Elizabeth  saw  them  and 
with  a  glad  little  shout  ran  to  the  road  to  greet  them. 

Susan  Hornby's  delight  was  fully  equal  to  her  own. 
The  two  persuaded  Nathan  to  wait  till  Aunt  Susan  should 
have  time  to  go  into  the  house  and  see  the  baby.  Nathan 
would  not  go  in,  but  sat  waiting  in  offended  aloofness  in 
the  wagon. 

"Why  don't  you  come  to  see  me,  Elizabeth?"  Aunt 
Susan  whispered  as  they  went  back  to  the  wagon.  "He's 
always  loved  you  so,  but  he  thinks  —  well,  he's  always 
been  so  good  to  me  about  everything  else,  but  his  feelings 
are  awfully  hurt  about  you.  Can't  you  come  soon?" 
She  looked  into  the  girl's  face  with  such  a  wealth  of  pent- 
up  love  that  Elizabeth  answered  positively: 

"I  will  come  next  Sunday,  Aunt  Susan.  You  may  look 
for  us,  for  we'll  be  there. " 

The  glad  look  in  Susan  Hornby's  eyes  was  a  sad  re- 
proach to  the  younger  woman,  and  though  Elizabeth 
wondered  how  she  would  get  her  husband's  consent,  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  force  him  by  every  means  in  her 
power  to  comply.  All  through  the  week  she  had  it  upon 
her  mind,  but  Elizabeth  had  learned  not  to  open  a  dis- 
cussion till  the  necessity  of  action  was  upon  her,  and  it  was 
not  till  Sunday  morning  that  she  mentioned  the  visit  to 
John. 

Nothing  but  the  pleading  in  Susan  Hornby's  face  could 
have  induced  Elizabeth  to  ask  to  be  taken  to  see  her  at 
this  time,  but  the  troubled  whispering  of  Aunt  Susan 
about  this  visit  had  awakened  Elizabeth  to  the  tragedy  of 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         327 

her  neglect.  Susan  Hornby  had  never  before  whispered 
where  Nathan  was  concerned  before.  Elizabeth  at  last 
saw  the  loneliness  of  the  old  couple.  It  would  never  do 
to  continue  such  treatment  of  those  who  had  befriended 
her  when  she  was  in  need. 

Jack  was  fretful  that  Sunday  morning  and  John  walked 
the  floor  with  him  while  Elizabeth  finished  her  breakfast 
dishes.  The  breakfast  had  been  late  and  it  was  time  to 
get  ready  if  they  were  to  go.  Her  heart  sank  as  she  ap- 
proached the  subject.  Jack  had  not  slept  well  of  late. 
He  was  not  ill,  but  teething.  Always  a  light  sleeper, 
Elizabeth  had  kept  the  fact  of  his  indisposition  to  herself, 
hoping  that  John,  who  slept  soundly,  might  not  be  aware 
of  it,  but  the  baby  had  fretted  in  the  daytime  and  was 
now  tossing  restlessly  in  his  father's  arms.  Elizabeth  was 
worn  out  from  the  loss  of  sleep  and  was  half  afraid  to  trust 
herself  to  make  the  request,  because  it  would  require 
politic  treatment  to  get  John  in  the  mood.  If  she  became 
vexed  or  upset  by  his  opposition  she  would  lose  her  oppor- 
tunity. Elizabeth  was  weaker  than  John  when  her  feel- 
ings were  ruffled.  She  had  planned  and  waited  till  the 
last  moment,  afraid  of  herself  and  afraid  of  her  husband. 
She  looked  at  him  as  he  paced  back  and  forth,  back  and 
forth,  with  a  torrent  of  longing  swelling  up  in  her  and 
threatening  to  bring  her  tears.  She  must  find  a  way  to 
get  his  ear. 

"Let  me  take  Jack,"  she  said,  hoping  that  something  in 
the  conversation  would  give  her  a  natural  opening  for 
what  must  come. 


328         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Poor  little  chap,"  John  replied,  releasing  the  child. 

Elizabeth  was  bathed  in  perspiration  from  the  hurry  of 
having  late  breakfast  and  the  fact  that  she  would  never 
dare  to  ask  to  be  taken  before  all  the  work  was  done  and 
the  kitchen  ready  for  close  inspection,  and  she  thought 
indignantly  of  the  scrubbed  floors  of  yesterday  and  won- 
dered how  the  child  could  be  expected  to  be  well  when 
he  was  fed  on  overheated  milk  day  after  day.  In- 
stantly she  put  the  thought  away  from  her.  She  must 
be  cool  and  careful  if  she  were  to  get  to  Aunt  Susan's 
to-day. 

"I'll  sponge  him  off  with  soda  in  his  bath  and  he'll  be 
all  right.  I  told  Aunt  Susan  we'd  take  dinner  with  them 
to-day,  and  it's  nearly  half-past  ten  now.  They  have 
dinner  at  noon  on  Sunday  as  well  as  other  days;  so  run 
and  hitch  up,  and  I'll  be  ready  with  baby.  I'll  have  your 
things  laid  out  so  you  can  jump  right  into  them  when 
you  come  in." 

She  looked  down  at  the  baby  so  as  not  to  meet  his  eye, 
but  the  offhand  assumption  of  his  readiness  to  go  seemed 
to  her  to  be  encouraging. 

"With  that  child?"  was  the  astonished  exclamation. 

"  It  won't  hurt  him  as  much  as  for  me  to  stand  over  the 
stove  and  cook  a  dinner  at  home,"  Elizabeth  answered 
firmly,  "and,  besides,  John,  I  promised  Aunt  Susan  we'd 
come.  Now  don't  be  cross.  I've  got  to  go,  and  that's  all 
there  is  about  it. " 

John  Hunter  was  actually  astonished  now.  He  had 
started  out  with  his  usual  pretenses,  but  this  was  some- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         329 

thing  new.     Elizabeth  had  promised  without  consulting 
him!     What  was  happening? 

"You  may  be  willing  to  take  that  child  out  in  his  con- 
dition—  I'm  not,"  he  said  severely.  "I  don't  under- 
stand what  you're  thinking  about. " 

"I'm  thinking  there'd  be  less  harm  to  him  in  a  day  of 
rest  for  his  mother  than  anything  else, "  she  said  bitterly, 
"and  I  am  not  allowed  to  get  a  minute  of  it  in  this  house. 
You'd  let  me  heat  his  milk  to  the  boiling  point  to  get  din- 
ner and  think  it  was  what  we  both  deserved!" 

She  was  instantly  dismayed  at  what  she  had  done. 
She  had  spit  out  all  the  actuality  of  her  convictions  in  spite 
of  every  effort  not  to  reply  unkindly  when  he  was  unfair 
to  her.  She  could  not  afford  to  retort  sharply  to-day. 
She  must  resort  to  other  tactics  if  she  were  to  win  to-day. 
Besides,  the  truth  was  only  a  half-truth.  John  did  not  in 
his  heart  wish  either  of  them  harm;  he  was  just  a  blind 
sort  of  bossing  creature  who  had  somehow  got  into  com- 
mand of  her  and  enjoyed  bullying  her  and  setting  tasks  to 
keep  her  occupied.  He  owned  her,  however,  and  she 
must  court  his  consent  to  this  visit. 

"Please,  dear.     I  told  Aunt  Susan  we'd  come.     I'd  — 
I'd  have  told  you  before  —  only  —  only  I  was  afraid  you'd 
not  be  willing  —  and  then  I'd  get  to  crying  and  give  up  - 
and  I've  got  to  go.     Now  don't  be  cross.     Go  this  once 
good-naturedly. " 

To  get  close  to  him  she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  put 
vp  her  face  coaxingly  for  a  kiss. 

John  Hunter  ignored  his  wife's  signal  for  tender  rela- 


330         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

tions  and  shook  off  her  hand  impatiently  without  looking 
at  her. 

"Even  if  Jack  were  well  I  wouldn't  go  away  and  leave 
mother  alone  all  day. "  John  moved  restlessly  away  from 
her. 

Elizabeth  would  not  give  up. 

"I'll  manage  mother.  She'll  go  if  I  insist. "  John  was 
edging  toward  the  door.  "Anyhow  I  told  Aunt  Susan 
I'd  come."  John  was  going  through  the  door.  "Please 
hurry.  We  must  be  on  our  way  pretty  soon,"  she  called 
after  his  receding  back. 

Elizabeth's  lips  tightened  with  vexation  at  the  contempt 
shown  by  his  refusal  to  answer,  and  then  loosened  and 
spread  into  an  amused  smile. 

"He  can  be  just  as  mad  as  he  wants  to.  I  stuck  to  it 
and  am  going  to  get  to  go.  It's  better  than  to  give  up  to 
him  all  the  time. " 

She  turned  into  the  sitting  room  and  putting  the  baby  on 
the  floor  emptied  the  clothespin  bag  in  his  lap  to  keep  him 
occupied,  and  flew  up  the  stairs  to  Mrs.  Hunter's  room. 

"Mother,  we're  going  to  Aunt  Susan's  to-day  and  you 
are  to  go  with  us.  Now  don't  say  you  aren't,  for  it  is 
settled,"  she  said,  slipping  her  hand  over  the  older 
woman's  mouth  to  prevent  the  objection  she  saw  coming, 
but  nothing  she  would  do  or  say  would  persuade  the  older 
woman  to  go. 

"I'll  settle  that  with  John  when  he  comes  in,"  Mrs. 
Hunter  said,  slipping  away  from  the  restraining  hand. 
"There's  no  reason  why  you  should  stay  at  home  on  my 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         331 

account  and  I  will  not  have  it  done,"  was  all  that  she 
could  get  out  of  her. 

"But  John  will  not  go  without  you!"  Elizabeth  cried 
in  dismay. 

The  girl  was  tempted  to  tell  her  of  the  gossip  she  had 
heard,  but  it  suddenly  seemed  small  and  not  worth  while. 
She  had  already  told  her  that  Aunt  Susan  had  her  promise 
to  come  in  time  for  dinner;  it  occurred  to  her  to  tell  her  of 
Nathan's  attitude  toward  them  for  their  unfriendly 
neglect,  but  that  too  seemed  unnecessary  and  trivial  since 
they  were  going.  On  that  point  Elizabeth  did  not  intend 
to  give  in  an  inch:  she  was  going,  even  if  John  was  cross 
about  it. 

"Yes,  he  will  go  without  me,  for  I'll  see  that  he  does," 
Mrs.  Hunter  assured  her,  and  with  that  Elizabeth  was 
content. 

Taking  the  baby  to  her  own  room,  she  undressed  and 
bathed  him  and  then  arrayed  him  in  the  daintiest  white 
dress  she  had  for  him,  determined  that  Aunt  Susan  should 
see  him  at  his  best.  As  she  nursed  him  so  that  he  would 
drop  off  to  sleep  till  they  were  ready  to  go,  she  looked  long 
and  earnestly  at  the  soft  skin  and  dark  lashes  of  his  baby 
face  and  realized  as  she  had  never  done  before  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  old  couple  whom  they  were  going  to  visit. 
The  little  Katie  of  that  house  had  been  taken  from  them 
at  about  this  age.  A  sob  arose  in  Elizabeth's  throat  when 
she  considered  how  they  had  besought  her  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  pour  the  dammed-up  stream  of  their  love  at  the 
feet  of  this  child,  and  how  slighted  their  efforts  had  been. 


332         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Jack  was  wide-eyed  and  would  not  sleep,  and  after 
losing  much  valuable  time  his  mother  set  him  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  bed  and  began  her  own  preparations.  As  she 
looked  about  for  something  suitable  to  wear,  she  saw  a 
simple  white  percale  with  red  dots  scattered  over  it,  which 
she  had  worn  the  summer  she  had  lived  in  Aunt  Susan's 
house.  So  little  had  she  gone  out  and  so  free  from  per- 
sonal vanity  was  she  that  it  was  still  eligible  to  best  wear. 
Besides,  it  had  associations  that  were  pleasant. 

"Why,  I  made  it  in  Aunt  Susan's  own  house,"  she  said 
aloud. 

She  looked  down  at  it  wistfully;  those  had  been  happy 
days. 

A  sudden  impulse  made  her  drop  her  heavy  hair  from 
its  coil  high  on  her  head  and,  picking  up  her  comb,  divide 
it  with  deft  movement.  Brushing  it  into  shape,  she 
braided  it  as  of  old,  in  two  braids,  and  then  fished  with 
rapturous  fingers  in  her  ribbon  box  for  the  bows  she  had 
always  worn  with  that  dress.  When  the  bows  were  tied 
she  put  the  braids  back  with  a  characteristic  toss  of  the 
head  and  stood  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass. 

"There  now,  he  can't  be  cross  after  that,"  she  said, 
feeling  more  as  if  she  were  her  real  self  than  she  had  done 
for  many  months. 

Jack  was  restless  and  cried.  Elizabeth  turned  to  him 
with  a  start. 

"You  blessed  baby!  Your  mother  was  way  off  and  had 
forgotten  that  there  was  such  a  small  person  as  you." 

She  sat  down  and  nursed  him  again  to  fill  in  the  time  till 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         333 

his  father  should  come  and  dress.  This  time  he  seemed 
sleepy,  and  Elizabeth  sang  happily  to  him,  kissing  his  pink 
palm  and  satisfying  the  maternal  instinct  in  her  by  softly 
stroking  his  plump  body.  He  had  never  looked  so  fair  to 
her  in  all  the  months  that  she  had  had  him.  John  was 
long  in  coming  and  she  fell  into  a  dreamy  state  of  maternal 
comfort  as  she  rocked,  and  forgot  the  hour  and  the  place 
and  the  dinner  that  would  soon  be  waiting  at  Aunt 
Susan's,  till  the  baby  went  to  sleep  in  her  arms. 

When  Jack  was  at  last  soundly  asleep  she  placed  him  on 
the  bed,  covering  him  with  a  piece  of  white  mosquito 
netting  to  keep  the  flies  from  disturbing  him,  and,  rear- 
ranging dress  and  ribbons,  went  into  the  sitting  room  to 
see  what  time  it  was.  An  exclamation  of  dismay  escaped 
her.  It  was  but  ten  minutes  to  twelve  o'clock!  She  had 
dreamed  much  longer  than  she  had  been  aware.  In  a 
fever  of  hurry  she  ran  back  to  the  bedroom  and  laid  out 
John's  best  suit.  That  had  pleasant  associations  also. 
But  what  could  be  keeping  him  so  long  when  it  was  time  to 
go?  As  soon  as  everything  was  in  order  she  ran  to  the 
barn  to  see  what  the  trouble  was.  John  came  out  as 
she  neared  the  barn  door,  talking  to  Jake,  who  followed 
leisurely. 

"Are  you  ready  to  dress?"  she  asked  hastily,  vexed  at 
the  signs  of  loitering. 

"Dress?  Why  —  what?  Oh,  I  forgot.  I  told  you  I 
didn't  want  to  go, "  he  said  impatiently. 

"Well,  you're  going  to  take  me  if  it  is  late,"  she  said 
firmly.  "Aunt  Susan  was  told  that  we'd  come,  and  she 


334         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

has  dinner  waiting  this  minute.  Jake,  put  the  horses  in 
the  wagon  while  Mr.  Hunter  dresses,  and  be  as  quick 
about  it  as  you  can." 

"The  horses  —  th'  horses  are  in  th'  pasture,  Lizzie," 
Jake  said  hesitantly.  "I  didn't  know  an'  —  an'  —  I  — 
an'  we  turned  'em  out  an  hour  ago." 

Jake  Ransom  saw  the  colour  die  out  of  the  young  face 
and  understood  exactly  what  had  happened.  He  saw  her 
turn  without  a  look  at  her  husband  and  start  to  the  house, 
bowed  and  broken  and  without  hope.  Jake  understood 
that  a  trick  had  been  played  on  her,  for  he  had  been  slow 
about  turning  the  horses  out  and  John  had  untied  and  led 
the  team  used  for  driving  to  the  pasture  gate  himself. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  kin  ketch  'em  'r  not,  but  I'll 
try, "  he  called  after  her. 

Elizabeth  turned  back  hopefully,  but  John  said 

"Now  look  here,  Elizabeth,  those  horses  have  been 
playing  like  mad  for  half  an  hour,  and  you  could  no  more 
catch  them  than  you  could  fly. "  Turning  to  Jake,  "  I'll 
take  Mrs.  Hunter  next  Sunday  if  she's  just  got  to  go.  A 
man  wants  to  rest  when  Sunday  comes, "  he  added  under 
his  breath. 

Jake  Ransom  watched  Elizabeth  drag  her  listless  feet  up 
the  steps  and  shot  a  look  of  disdain  at  the  back  of  John 
Hunter  as  he  followed  her. 

"You  dirty  cuss!"  he  exclaimed  under  his  breath. 
"Lizzie's  as  good  a  woman  as  th'  is  in  this  country,  an' 
she  don't  git  nothin'  she  wants.  I  bet  I  see  t'  gittin'  them 
horses  ready  next  Sunday  myself. " 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         335 

Going  into  her  bedroom,  Elizabeth  Hunter  laid  off  the 
finery  of  girlhood,  and  with  it  her  girlhood  also. 

"I'll  never  ask  him  again,"  she  told  herself,  and  put  her 
hair  back  into  its  woman's  knot  and  went  to  the  kitchen 
and  began  dinner. 

Susan  Hornby  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and 
looked  up  the  road  for  the  fortieth  time. 

"The  baby  must  be  worse,  Nate,"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band when  at  last  there  had  to  be  a  discussion  of  the 
matter. 

Nathan  Hornby  followed  her  into  the  kitchen  and 
helped  to  take  up  the  dinner  which  had  been  waiting  over 
an  hour.  His  head  burned  with  indignation,  but  there 
was  something  in  Susan's  defeat  which  brooked  no  dis- 
cussion on  his  side.  They  had  come  as  near  quarrelling 
over  this  invitation  as  they  had  ever  done  about  any- 
thing in  their  married  life. 

As  they  sat  at  the  table  eating  their  belated  dinner,  a 
lonely  horseman  appeared  coming  down  the  road  from  the 
west. 

"It's  Jake!  I  wonder  if  he's  going  for  the  doctor?" 
Susan  exclaimed.  "You  never  can  tell  what  anybody  has 
to  contend  with. "  And  the  meal  was  left  to  cool  unfin- 
ished as  the  old  couple  left  the  house  and  hailed  the  rider. 

"I  didn't  hear  nothin'  about  th'  baby  bein'  worse," 
Jake  was  obliged  to  answer  when  put  under  question. 

He  was  so  conscious  that  Elizabeth  would  not  approve 
of  the  truth  being  told  that  he  stammered  and  made 


336         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

his  listeners  feel  that  something  was  left  untold.  In  fact, 
Jake's  reticence  was  of  the  exact  quality  to  add  to  the 
distrust  already  aroused.  He  edged  away  at  last  and  left 
Susan  Hornby  looking  at  her  husband  in  such  a  state  that 
Nathan  was  moved  to  say: 

"Never  mind,  Sue,  I'll  take  you  over  after  dinner  and 
you  can  see  for  yourself. " 

Susan    Hornby    turned    and    started    to    the    house. 
Nathan  followed  her  aquiver  with  the  slight  that  his  com- 
mon sense  told  him  had  been  put  upon  her  by  those  whom 
she  had  so  faithfully  and  fully  served. 

Susan  stumbled  and  put  her  hands  to  her  head  with  a 
harsh  laugh.  Nathan  hurried  forward  a  step  and  looked 
searchingly  into  her  face.  With  a  great  sob,  he  put  his 
arms  about  her.  Susan  paid  not  the  slightest  attention 
to  him,  but  let  herself  be  guided  along  the  path  without 
actual  resistance.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  did 
not  see.  She  went  docilely  to  her  room  and  permitted  the 
stricken  husband  to  place  her  on  the  bed,  where  he 
loosened  her  collar  and,  removing  her  clothing,  dressed 
her  for  bed  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  child.  When  noth- 
ing more  could  be  done,  he  knelt  by  her  and  fondling  her 
unresponsive  hand  let  the  tears  he  could  no  longer  con- 
trol pour  over  his  ashen  cheeks. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Sue?  Don't  you  know  your  old 
Nate  at  all?"  he  quavered,  but  there  was  no  reply  except 
the  puffing  breath  which  was  every  moment  growing  more 
and  more  laboured.  Nathan  knew  what  it  meant  —  she 
had  been  so  once  before. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         337 

As  the  Hunter  family  sat  about  the  dinner  table  on 
Tuesday,  Silas  Chamberlain  drove  up  to  the  side  gate, 
and  after  tying  his  team  came  to  the  door.  He  entered 
when  bidden,  but  would  not  sit  down,  and  looked  about 
him  with  an  effort  to  adjust  his  impressions  with  what  he 
saw  before  him. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  t'  th'  funeral?"  he  asked  when  he  saw 
that  there  seemed  to  be  no  air  of  mourning  in  the  house. 

"Funeral?"  John  Hunter  exclaimed.     "Who's  dead?" 

"I  told  Nate  Hornby  you  didn't  know  nothin'  about 
it." 

"Hornby?  We  haven't  heard  of  any  one  being  dead. 
Who  is  it?"  John  Hunter  asked,  puzzled  at  the  reti- 
cence of  the  old  man,  who  stood  with  his  straw  hat  in  his 
hand  and  slid  his  fingers  about  it's  greasy  brim  uneasily. 

"  Is  —  is  it  possible  you  all  didn't  know  Mrs.  Hornby 
was  sick?"  he  asked,  unable  to  lift  his  eyes. 

There  was  a  low  cry  from  Elizabeth  Hunter,  the  noise  of 
her  escape  to  the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  the  sound  of 
moans  and  cries  after  the  door  was  shut,  and  Silas  Cham- 
berlain paid  bitter  toll  for  delivering  his  message.  The 
family  sat  stunned  and  silent  in  the  presence  of  those 
sounds  of  grief.  The  bowed  head  of  the  old  man  told  his 
comprehension  of  the  news  and  left  Jake  Ransom  with  an 
understanding  of  him  which  words  could  never  have  given. 

As  soon  as  Elizabeth  could  get  control  of  her  feelings  and 
command  her  scattered  senses,  she  snatched  her  bonnet 
from  the  chair  beside  the  bed  where  she  had  dropped  it 
before  dinner  and  flew  to  the  dining  room  again,  her  one 


338         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

impulse  to  get  to  the  side  of  the  friend  whose  spirit  had 
gone  from  her.  Going  to  Silas,  she  clutched  him  by  the 
arm  with  fingers  that  sank  into  the  flesh  like  a  vise. 

"Take  me  to  her!  —  take  me  now!"  she  cried,  pushing 
him  toward  the  door. 

"I'll  take  you,  Elizabeth,"  John  Hunter  said,  rising, 
and  Jake  Ransom  saw  the  look  of  nameless  horror  she  took 
on  at  thought  of  her  husband's  presence. 

"Take  me  to  her  at  once,  Mr.  Chamberlain.  Do,  for 
God's  sake,  take  me  to  her!"  she  cried,  and  pulled  the  old 
man  through  the  door  with  nervous  hands,  and  then  ran 
down  the  path  before  him  and  began  to  pull  at  the  straps 
with  which  the  horses  were  tied. 

John  followed  them  out,  still  protesting  that  he  would 
take  her  himself  if  she  would  wait,  but  without  a  look  in 
his  direction  she  urged  Silas  on. 

"Hurry!  Hurry!  Do!"  she  implored,  and  Silas  gave 
the  horses  such  a  sharp  slap  with  the  lines  that  they 
started  on  a  swift  trot  almost  before  they  were  seated, 
leaving  John  Hunter  in  the  midst  of  his  expostulations. 

"I'll  bring  her  back  safe,"  Silas  called  over  his  shoulder. 

Now  that  no  further  action  was  possible,  Elizabeth  sat 
with  her  hands  clasped,  her  teeth  set,  and  her  eyes  looking 
into  vacancy,  numbed  beyond  words,  asking  no  questions 
and  making  no  complaints.  Silas's  heart  beat  with  an 
anguish  of  sympathy.  He  stopped  at  his  own  house  a 
moment  to  tell  Liza  Ann  that  he  would  come  back  for  her 
within  the  hour,  and  still  Elizabeth  gave  no  sign  of  real- 
izing what  was  going  on  about  her. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         339 

At  last  a  terrible  thought  took  hold  of  Silas,  and  he 
pulled  up  his  team,  which  was  sweating  heavily. 

"You  ain't  fit  t'  go,  Lizzie.  You  ain't  fit  t'  go,  child. 
I'm  goin'  t'  take  you  back  home."  He  began  to  turn  the 
horses'  heads  toward  home,  and  then  stopped  for  her  wan- 
dering wits  to  gather. 

"Why,  oh,  why  don't  you  hurry?"  Elizabeth  exclaimed 
when  she  realized  that  they  were  standing  still. 

The  old  man's  heart  was  torn  with  pity,  and  it  was  in 
the  voice  of  a  mother  that  he  addressed  her. 

"You  ain't  fit  t'  go,"  he  repeated.  "I'm  going  t'  take 
you  back  home."  There  was  a  white  look  about  her 
mouth  that  frightened  him. 

The  girl  grasped  his  arm  with  fingers  that  closed  with  a 
grip  like  a  drowning  person. 

"I  couldn't  see  her  when  she  was  living  —  surely  I  can 
see  her  dead."  Then  with  a  wail,  "  Oh,  no  —  no,  not  dead ! 
Oh,  my  God!" 

She  sobbed  in  a  dry  sort  of  way  that  contracted  Silas's 
throat  to  witness,  and  left  the  old  man  almost  as  undone 
as  herself,  and  without  further  argument  he  drove  on  to 
Nathan  Hornby's  desolated  home,  where  he  lifted  her 
tenderly  down  from  the  high  seat,  with  a  mist  before  his 
eyes  that  blurred  her  image  till  it  was  unrecognizable,  and 
stood  watching  her  go  up  the  path. 

A  woman  met  her  at  the  door,  but  she  did  not  know 
who,  and  brushed  past  her  hurriedly  and  ran  into  the 
kitchen,  where  she  could  see  Nathan  Hornby  sitting  with 
his  head  on  his  arms  beside  the  kitchen  table. 


340         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Going  down  on  her  knees  with  a  swift  movement, 
Elizabeth  threw  her  arm  across  his  shoulder,  and  laid  her 
head  beside  his,  sobbing  convulsively.  Nathan  raised  his 
head  in  dull  surprise,  and  seeing  who  it  was,  shook  her 
arm  off  resentfully  and  rose  to  his  feet.  Elizabeth  crawled 
after  him  on  her  knees  and  clasped  his  own  with  both  arms, 
turning  her  stricken  face  up  to  his  and  crying: 

"Oh,  I  know!  I  know  how  you  feel,  but  truly,  truly, 
Uncle  Nate,  I  am  not  to  blame.  For  God's  sake  —  for 
God's  sake,  forgive!" 

He  looked  down  on  her  coldly  and  was  tempted  to  spurn 
her  from  him  with  his  foot,  but  there  was  such  anguish  in 
voice  and  eye  as  he  himself  had  hardly  felt,  and  his  wife's 
words,  her  last  words,  flashed  through  his  bewildered 
brain:  "We  can't  tell  what  anybody  has  to  contend 
with."  He  stood  irresolute  while  she  rose  to  her  feet. 
When  he  did  not  answer  her,  Elizabeth  threw  herself 
down  in  the  chair  from  which  he  had  just  risen  and 
bowing  her  head  on  the  table  moaned  in  such  bitterness  of 
spirit  that  Nathan  was  moved  to  pity,  and  would  have 
comforted  her  if  he  could. 

Silas,  having  tied  his  team,  came  to  the  kitchen  door, 
but  on  seeing  its  occupants  turned  hastily  and  went  out  to 
his  wagon  again,  where  he  stood  choking  and  swallowing 
in  helpless  misery. 

Presently,  Nathan  Hornby,  at  a  loss  to  check  her  grief, 
laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  said: 

"Come  and  see  her,  Elizabeth." 

Elizabeth  Hunter  arose  like  one  walking  in  her  sleep  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         341 

followed  Nathan  to  the  sitting  room.  The  black  casket 
resting  on  two  chairs  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a 
worse  shock  than  any  she  had  yet  had,  and  with  a  horror- 
stricken  cry  of  fright  she  fled  to  the  kitchen  again,  and 
when  Nathan  reached  her  side,  her  teeth  were  chattering 
and  great  beads  of  sweat  covered  her  quivering  face;  she 
sank  into  Nathan's  chair  unable  to  support  herself. 

When  at  last  she  was  assisted  tenderly  to  her  feet,  she 
begged  feebly  to  be  taken  home. 

"But  you  can't  ride  that  far,"  Silas  protested,  pity- 
ingly. "You  just  naturally  can't  ride  that  far  in  th'  big 
wagon,  child." 

For  answer  she  dragged  herself  forward  and  staggered 
to  the  chair  where  they  had  put  her  bonnet.  Nathan  saw 
that  her  strength  was  returning  and  gave  Silas  a  little  nod. 
They  each  took  an  arm  to  steady  her,  and  so  Elizabeth 
passed  from  the  presence  of  her  one  dear  friend  into  a  life 
as  colourless  as  the  form  she  left  behind. 

"He's  an  awful  sick  child,  Mrs.  Hunter,  but  we  may  — 
I  believe  we  will  pull  him  through. " 

It  was  Thursday,  and  Doctor  Morgan  sat  opposite 
Elizabeth,  holding  the  hand  of  the  shadow  of  the  baby  of 
three  days  ago. 

"You  see  that  milk  has  not  agreed  with  him.  Mr. 
Hunter  says  you  took  a  drive  over  to  Hornby's  the  day  of 
the  funeral.  The  heat  and  excitement  has  been  too  much 
for  you.  You  nursed  him  immediately  on  getting  home ? " 

"Yes,"  she  replied  lifelessly. 


342         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  wean  him  now,"  the  old  doctor 
said,  looking  the  unresponsive  mother  over  sharply.  "It 
won't  do  to  try  any  experiments  with  him.  Your  milk 
may  be  all  right  now,  but  he  wouldn't  stand  a  relapse. " 

Elizabeth  made  no  reply  and  listened  patiently  to  his 
directions  for  preparing  the  new  food.  After  he  was  gone, 
she  laid  the  shrunken  little  body  on  the  bed  and  went  to 
the  kitchen  to  prepare  the  milk.  She  took  up  the  new 
bottle  with  the  rubber  on  the  end  and  looked  at  it  in 
stupefied,  aimless  disgust.  Her  impulse  was  to  fling  it 
out  of  the  open  door,  but  remembering  that  she  would  but 
poison  him  by  putting  his  lips  to  her  own  breast,  she 
turned  to  the  table  and  placing  the  bottle  in  a  pan  covered 
it  with  cold  water  and  set  it  on  the  stove  to  come  to  a  slow 
boil. 

Going  back  to  the  bedroom  she  picked  up  the  pillow  — 
the  child  was  so  limp  that  they  had  to  handle  him  on  a 
pillow  —  and  sat  down,  holding  it  close  to  her  heart. 

John  came  in.  She  did  not  look  up.  He  came  over  to 
her  and  stooped  to  look  at  the  half-conscious  child,  who 
lay  with  half-open  eyes  and  under  jaw  dropped  down. 
There  were  deep  greenish  rings  under  those  eyes,  and  a 
great  sob  broke  from  John  Hunter's  throat. 

Elizabeth  stirred  dully  and  looked  up,  but  did  not  speak. 
There  was  that  about  her  which  made  her  unapproachable. 
She  showed  no  resentment,  no  anger,  no  emotion  of  any 
sort.  She  had  come  home  from  Nathan's  house  as  she 
was  now.  She  had  refused  to  go  to  the  funeral,  but  she 
had  had  supper  ready  when  John  and  his  mother  had 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         343 

returned  from  the  graveyard,  and  it  had  been  as  orderly 
and  as  well  cooked  as  usual,  but  she  had  not  talked  at  the 
meal,  nor  seemed  to  hear  when  she  was  spoken  to,  but 
there  was  evidently  no  pouting.  John  had  tried  to  ex- 
plain, and  she  had  given  silent  opportunity,  and  when  it 
had  been  finished  had  said,  "  Yes,"  in  a  hollow  voice,  and 
had  moved  on  about  her  work  without  looking  up,  but 
there  had  been  no  apparent  resentment. 

Before  bedtime  that  night  the  baby  (who  had  gone  to 
sleep  while  she  had  nursed  him  when  she  had  come  home), 
awoke  crying.  She  had  taken  him  up  and  had  offered  her 
breast,  but  it  had  turned  away  as  if  sickened,  and  had 
continued  to  cry  till,  presently,  it  had  doubled  its  little 
body  together  with  a  sharp  scream  and  vomited  till  its 
breath  was  nearly  gone.  There  had  been  a  sour  odour  to 
the  contents  of  its  stomach  that  had  struck  terror  to  their 
hearts,  and  before  morning  Doctor  Morgan  was  at  its 
side.  He  had  noted  the  leaden  movements  of  the  mother 
and  calling  John  outside  had  questioned  him  regarding 
her.  John,  troubled  at  her  indifference  to  him  and  the 
lifelessness  of  her  attitude  even  toward  the  babe,  had  told 
him  all  he  knew  —  as  he  understood  it. 

"Of  course  she  boarded  with  them  two  years  ago,"  he 
had  said  in  concluding,  "but  I  don't  see  that  that  needs  to 
cut  such  a  figure." 

"Were  your  wife  and  Mrs.  Hornby  great  friends?" 
Doctor  Morgan  asked,  studying  John  Hunter  and  puz- 
zling over  the  evident  mystery  of  the  situation. 

"Ye-e-s-s!"  with  perplexed  deliberation;  "that  is,  she 


344         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

liked  her  better  than  any  of  the  rest  of  the  neighbours 
around  here.  She  wanted  to  go  there  last  Sunday  and  I 
thought  the  baby  wasn't  fit  to  take  out.  It  looks  now  as 
if  I  was  right. " 

"Well,  she's  had  a  shock  of  some  kind,  and  if  you  don't 
look  out  she'll  be  down  on  our  hands  too.  You'd  better 
get  a  girl  or  let  your  mother  do  the  work  for  a  couple  of 
weeks, "  Doctor  Morgan  advised. 

And  John  Hunter  had  looked  faithfully  for  some  one  to 
take  his  wife's  place  in  the  kitchen  and  had  found  what 
she  had  told  him  when  Hepsie  left  to  be  true.  In  many 
places  where  there  was  no  excuse  given  and  girls  were  at 
home  he  had  met  with  a  sort  of  refusal  which  stung  him  to 
the  quick. 

Elizabeth  rocked  the  baby  with  a  mechanical  dead  sort 
of  care.  John  was  emotional  enough  to  be  badly  broken 
up  by  the  child's  looks,  but  Elizabeth's  unresponsiveness 
at  such  a  time  made  of  it  a  tragedy  which  he  could  not 
understand;  he  wanted  greetings  and  discussion,  and 
attentions  showered  upon  him  as  usual,  and  they  were 
not  forthcoming.  He  could  not  understand  what  had 
brought  this  state  of  things  to  pass,  but  no  more  could 
he  question  one  who  was  so  evidently  removed  from 
present  conditions.  With  a  sense  of  forlornness  he  had 
never  known,  he  fell  on  his  knees  by  her  side  and  laid 
his  head  against  her  arm,  seeking  comfort,  and  when 
she  still  did  not  speak,  the  fullness  of  his  misery  be- 
came apparent,  and  he  got  up  unsteadily  and  left  the 
house. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         345 

Slowly  life  and  returning  interest  awakened  in  the  child; 
still  more  slowly  did  the  mother  take  up  her  threads  in  the 
web  of  living.  The  old  routine  was  established,  with  a  few 
exceptions.  Elizabeth  arose  early  and  prepared  break- 
fast before  sunrise  as  before,  the  washing  and  ironing  were 
as  well  done,  but  when  she  prepared  to  clean  the  kitchen 
floor  the  first  washday  after  Aunt  Susan's  death,  she  took 
the  mop  down  from  its  nail  on  the  back  porch  and  used  it 
as  she  had  done  that  first  winter. 

John  and  his  mother  came  in  with  the  clothes  basket 
as  she  started  to  wring  out  the  mop  to  wipe  the  first  corner 
finished. 

"Hadn't  I  better  get  down  and  scrub  it  for  you  with  the 
brush?"  John  asked. 

"There  will  be  no  more  of  that  in  my  kitchen,"  replied 
Elizabeth,  and  she  had  quietly  continued  her  work  with- 
out looking  up. 

"Why  not?"  had  been  the  astonished  query. 

"We  will  not  argue  it,"  she  had  said  in  the  same  spirit- 
less tone  in  which  she  always  spoke  those  days,  and  had 
been  so  quietly  determined  that  she  got  her  way.  John 
could  not  argue  with  a  woman  who  was  so  unresistant  of 
manner:  to  him,  manner  constituted  argument.  Eliza- 
beth went  her  own  quiet  way  and  took  no  part  in  the 
things  that  went  on  about  her  unless  her  services  were 
required,  then  she  served  faithfully  and  uncomplainingly, 
but  she  held  converse  with  no  one  in  the  happy  way  of  old. 

Thus  summer  passed,  and  autumn  also.  Little  Jack 
walked  now  and  was  beginning  to  lisp  an  occasional  word, 


346         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

making  of  himself  a  veritable  fairy  in  the  household. 
With  the  close  of  the  warm  weather  he  grew  less  and  less 
fretful,  and  when  the  first  snow  fell  he  became  as  happy 
and  active  as  a  kitten.  The  mother  had  kept  him  with  her 
every  minute,  and  when  her  work  had  been  done,  which 
was  seldom,  was  satisfied  to  rock  him  and  listen  to  his 
baby  chatter. 

Elizabeth  had  not  been  angry  in  the  whole  six  months, 
neither  had  she  been  glad.  She  never  vexed  John  by 
asking  to  be  taken  places.  Gladly  would  he  have  taken 
her,  if  by  so  doing  he  could  have  brought  back  her  old 
enthusiasm  and  girlish  glee,  for  Elizabeth  had  been  the 
life  of  the  household,  and  things  had  settled  into  a  dead 
monotony  that  made  of  their  home  but  a  house  since 
Susan  Hornby's  death.  Sometimes,  vexed  by  her  passive 
acceptation  of  whatever  came,  John  would  throw  out 
stinging  observations  about  women  who  made  their  hus- 
bands turn  to  others  for  their  society,  and  then  be  left  in 
an  uncomfortable  situation  by  the  fact  that  he  had 
aroused  neither  anger  nor  annoyance,  for  Elizabeth  would 
inquire  in  her  lifeless  tones  what  he  wished  her  to  do 
which  was  left  undone.  Puzzled  by  her  real  meekness  of 
spirit,  the  man  was  compelled  to  admit  that  she  made 
no  vexatious  demands  upon  him  and  that  she  laboured 
unceasingly  to  keep  the  soulless  home  in  order.  One  of 
the  strange  and  contradictory  things  in  the  situation  was 
that  John  Hunter  did  not  turn  to  the  mother  whom  he 
had  ever  been  ready  to  exalt  for  consolation  in  this  time 
of  trouble;  the  demand  his  feelings  made  was  for  the  com- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         347 

panionship  which  while  it  was  his  he  had  not  desired. 
The  revelation  of  the  months  showed  him  what  he  had 
lost.  Mrs.  Hunter  was  as  much  in  the  dark  about  the 
real  cause  of  Elizabeth's  changed  condition  as  was  John. 

"The  ride  to  Mr.  Hornby's  had  something  to  do  with 
it,"  she  said  dubiously  when  talking  the  matter  over  with 
her  son  after  the  baby  began  to  get  well  and  Elizabeth 
showed  no  improvement  in  a  mental  way. 

"It  comes  from  that  ride  in  the  hot  sun.  You  see  it 
made  the  baby  sick  too;  but  it  ain't  any  use  to  say  so  to 
her,"  John  replied,  but  in  spite  of  the  firmness  of  his  tone 
there  was  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face  and  the  last  word 
dragged  with  indecision. 

"She  was  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Hornby,  too,  and  that  may 
have  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  Mrs.  Hunter  observed. 

"Ye-e-s-s-s!"  John  replied.  "But  she  couldn't  care  for 
that  kind  of  people  enough  to  make  herself  sick  about 
them, "  he  said  more  firmly. 

Mrs.  Hunter  considered  slowly  for  some  moments. 

"I  guess  you're  right,"  she  said  at  last.  "She  seemed 
to  be  attached  to  them,  but  she  don't  ask  to  go  to  see  him 
since  his  wife's  death;  and  I  should  think  now's  when  her 
love  for  them  would  show  out. " 

"I  wish  to  God  she  would  ask  to  go  anywhere.  I'm 
tired  of  the  kind  of  life  we're  leading,"  John  said  in  a 
manner  which  supported  his  words. 

The  weariness  of  life  was  modified,  or  at  least  shifted 
from  one  shoulder  to  the  other  for  John  Hunter  by  the 
increasing  burden  of  financial  worries.  In  this  also  he 


348         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

was  denied  any  comfort  or  assistance  from  Elizabeth;  she 
asked  no  questions,  and  if  he  talked  of  notes  which  were 
falling  due,  or  of  interest  soon  to  be  paid,  she  listened  with- 
out remark,  and  moved  about  her  endless  round  of  clean- 
ing, cooking,  or  sewing  apparently  absorbed  in  the  work 
in  hand.  If  he  complained  about  expenses,  the  only  reply 
he  received  was  for  the  food  on  the  table  to  be  of  a  plainer 
quality  and  a  lessened  grocery  bill  the  next  time  he  went  to 
town.  This  he  would  not  permit,  being  sensitive  about 
the  opinions  of  the  men  who  worked  for  him.  Elizabeth 
never  remarked  upon  the  matter  of  keeping  three  men 
through  the  winter  as  she  would  have  done  a  year  ago 
when  there  was  little  to  do  which  counted  in  farm  affairs. 
She  left  her  husband  free  to  do  as  he  chose  on  all  those 
matters.  She  did  not  sulk;  she  had  lost  hope,  she  was 
temporarily  beaten.  In  that  first  hour  after  her  return 
from  Aunt  Susan's  death  chamber  she  had  meditated 
flight.  She  longed  to  get  away,  to  go  anywhere  where  she 
would  never  see  her  husband's  face  again,  but  there  was 
Jack.  Jack  belonged  to  his  father  as  much  as  to  her,  and 
Elizabeth  was  fair.  Besides,  she  was  helpless  about  the 
support  of  the  child.  Her  health  was  quite  seriously 
interfered  with  by  the  ache  in  her  back  which  was  always 
present  since  the  baby's  coming.  She  had  told  her  mother 
but  two  short  years  before  that  she  would  not  live  with  a 
man  who  would  treat  her  as  her  father  treated  his  wife, 
and  here  she  found  herself  in  those  few  months  as  en- 
meshed as  her  mother  had  ever  been.  Aye!  even  more 
so.  Hers  was  a  position  even  more  to  be  feared,  because 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         349 

it  was  more  subtle,  more  intangible,  more  refined,  and 
John's  rule  as  determined  and  unyielding  as  that  of 
Josiah  Farnshaw. 

Having  failed  to  act  in  that  first  hour  of  her  trouble, 
Elizabeth  drifted  into  inaction.  Even  her  thoughts 
moved  slowly  as  she  pondered  on  her  situation;  her 
thoughts  moved  slowly,  but  they  moved  constantly. 
Under  all  that  quiet  of  manner  was  a  slow  fire  of  reasoning 
which  was  working  things  out.  Gradually  Elizabeth  was 
getting  a  view  of  the  real  trouble.  Two  things  absorbed 
her  attention:  one  was  the  domination  of  men,  and  the 
other  was  the  need  of  money  adjustment.  To  live  under 
the  continual  interference  of  a  man  who  refused  to  listen 
to  the  story  of  one's  needs  was  bad  enough,  but  to  live 
without  an  income  while  one  had  a  small  child  was  worse. 
She  would  leave  this  phase  of  her  difficulties  at  times  and 
wander  back  to  the  character  of  the  treatment  she  received 
and  compare  it  to  that  accorded  to  her  mother.  It 
occasioned  great  surprise  to  find  herself  admiring  her 
father's  manner  more  than  that  of  her  husband.  Mr. 
Farnshaw  had  the  virtue  of  frankness  in  his  mastery, 
John  us'ed  subterfuges;  Mr.  Farnshaw  was  openly  brutal, 
John  secretly  heartless;  her  father  was  a  domineering 
man,  her  husband  even  more  determined,  more  inflexible. 
While  considering  the  possibility  of  escape  by  running 
away,  many  things  were  clarified  in  Elizabeth's  mind 
regarding  her  position  as  a  wife,  and  the  position  of  all 
wives.  She,  for  the  first  time,  began  to  see  the  many 
whips  which  a  determined  husband  had  at  his  command, 


350         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

chief  of  which  was  the  crippling  processes  of  motherhood. 
She  could  not  teach  school  —  Jack  was  too  young; 
neither  could  she  take  any  other  work  and  keep  the  child 
with  her.  As  she  meditated  upon  the  impossibility  of  the 
various  kinds  of  work  a  woman  could  do,  another  phase 
of  her  situation  arose  before  her:  even  if  the  baby  were 
older,  and  a  school  easily  obtained,  the  gossip  that  would 
follow  a  separation  would  be  unendurable.  Having 
accumulated  a  reputation  for  snobbishness  and  aristo- 
cratic seclusion,  people  would  not  neglect  so  rare  an 
opportunity  to  even  old  scores.  She  would  be  a  grass 
widow,  a  subject  for  all  the  vulgar  jest  and  loathsome  wit 
of  the  community.  Country  people  know  how  to  sting 
and  annoy  in  a  thousand  ways.  However,  the  possibility 
of  this  sort  of  retribution  was  put  entirely  away  by  the 
baby's  illness.  By  the  time  Jack  had  recovered,  the 
young  mother  was  worn  to  a  lifeless  machine,  compelled 
to  accept  what  came  to  her.  Her  youth,  her  health,  her 
strength  were  gone;  worse  than  all  that,  her  interest  in 
things,  in  her  own  affairs  even,  had  almost  gone. 

John  wandered  about  the  house  disconsolate  and  dis- 
satisfied, and  made  amends  in  curious  little  ways,  and 
from  John's  standpoint.  He  opened  relations  with 
Elizabeth's  family  and  insisted  upon  taking  her  home  for 
a  visit.  Elizabeth  went  with  him,  and  accepted  the  more 
than  half-willing  recognition  of  her  father,  who  wanted  to 
get  into  communication  with  the  baby.  He  was  offering 
for  sale  a  young  team  and  John,  thinking  to  do  a  magnani- 
mous thing,  bought  Patsie.  Elizabeth  accepted  the  visit 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         351 

and  the  horse  without  emotions  of  any  sort,  and  left  her 
husband  annoyed  and  her  family  floundering  in  perplexity 
at  her  passive  attitude  toward  life.  At  home  that  night 
he  said  to  her  sneeringly: 

"No  matter  what  a  man  does  for  you,  you  pout,  and  act 
as  if  you  didn't  like  it.  If  I  don't  offer  to  take  you  you're 
mad,  and  if  I  do  you  set  around  and  act  as  if  you  were 
bored  to  death  by  having  to  go.  What  th'  devil's  a  man 
to  do?" 

"I  was  perfectly  willing  to  go,"  was  the  reply,  and  she 
went  on  dressing  Jack  for  bed  without  looking  up. 

John  cast  a  baffled  look  at  her  as  she  carried  the  child 
out  of  the  room,  and  returned  to  his  uncomfortable 
thoughts  without  trying  to  talk  of  anything  else  when  she 
returned  and  sat  down  to  sew.  The  sitting  room  in 
which  they  spent  their  evenings  was  in  perfect  order;  the 
whole  house  was  never  so  orderly,  nor  their  table  better 
served,  but  John  pined  for  companionship.  The  work  he 
had  worn  her  out  in  doing  was  never  better  performed,  but 
there  was  no  love  in  the  doing,  and  when  he  addressed  her, 
though  her  answer  was  always  ready  and  kind,  there  was 
no  love  in  it,  and  he  was  learning  that  our  equity  in  the  life 
of  another  has  fixed  and  unalterable  lines  of  demarkation. 

Thus  matters  progressed  till  February,  when  Jake  was 
called  home  to  Iowa  by  the  death  of  his  mother.  Jake 
had  lived  such  a  careless,  happy-go-lucky  sort  of  life  that 
he  was  obliged  to  borrow  a  large  part  of  his  railroad  fare 
from  John  Hunter,  who  was  himself  so  badly  in  debt  that 
he  was  wondering  how  he  was  to  meet  the  interest  which 


352         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

would  fall  due  in  May.  John  gave  him  the  money  with 
the  understanding  that  Jake  would  come  back  in  time  for 
the  early  seeding,  and  prepared  to  take  him  into  town. 
Jake  was  the  only  man  left  on  the  farm,  and  there  was 
consternation  in  John's  heart  at  the  prospect  of  having  all 
the  chores  thrown  upon  his  own  shoulders  in  cold  weather. 
Jake  had  been  the  only  reliable  man  he  had  ever  been  able 
to  hire.  The  more  independent  sort  of  hired  men  resented 
John  Hunter's  interference  in  the  farm  work,  which  they 
understood  far  better  than  he,  and  seldom  stayed  long, 
but  Jake  Ransom  liked  Elizabeth,  was  close  friends  with 
Luther  Hansen,  and  since  he  saw  the  mistress  of  the  house 
drooping  and  discouraged,  doubly  appreciated  the  home 
into  which  he  had  fallen.  Jake  had  been  devoted  to 
Elizabeth  with  a  dog-like  devotion  since  his  first  meeting 
with  her  in  the  little  schoolhouse  six  years  before.  He  was 
more  than  glad  that  he  could  secure  his  return  to  the 
Hunter  home  by  the  simple  method  of  borrowing  money. 
More  nearly  than  any  one  else  in  her  whole  circle  of 
acquaintances,  Jake  Ransom  had  Elizabeth's  situation 
figured  out.  He  wanted  to  come  back  to  her  service,  and 
it  was  with  a  satisfied  security  that  he  helped  prepare  the 
bobsled  for  the  trip  to  town.  They  went  early  and  took 
Mrs.  Hunter  with  them  to  do  some  shopping  for  herself 
and  Elizabeth.  John  hoped  to  find  a  man  who  could 
come  back  with  them  that  afternoon  and  help  with  the 
work  of  watering  and  feeding  the  hundred  and  fifty  head  of 
cattle  that  made  of  their  farm  life  a  busy  round  of  daily 
toil. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HUGH   NOLAND 

DOCTOR  MORGAN  folded   his  stethoscope  and 
thrust  it  into  his  inner  pocket. 

"Your  heart's  been  pounding  like  that  for 
seven  years,  you  say?"  he  asked  of  the  man  sitting  before 
him. 

"Seven  years  in  May,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

The  patient  got  up  from  the  office  chair  and  adjusted 
his  waistcoat.  The  waistcoat  was  ample  and  covered  a 
broad  chest.  The  face  also  was  broad,  with  a  square  chin, 
and  eyes  set  well  apart.  The  man  was  twenty-eight  or 
thirty  years  old  and  nearly  six  feet  in  height. 

"  I  know  all  you've  got  to  tell  me, "  he  said,  going  to  the 
mirror  to  brush  his  tumbled  hair.  "They  sent  me  out  to 
find  a  place  on  a  farm  because  medicine  wouldn't  do  any- 
thing for  me.  I'm  tolerably  comfortable  if  I  don't  overdo 
—  that  is,  if  I  stay  out  of  doors  while  I'm  doing.  I  don't 
expect  you  to  make  a  new  man  out  of  me;  I  only  thought 
I'd  have  you  look  me  over  the  first  thing,  because  I  might 
need  you  suddenly,  and  it's  better  for  you  to  know  what 
sort  of  patient  you've  got  beforehand."  He  paused  for 
an  inspection  of  his  well-groomed  hands. 

"You  may  not  need  me  for  years,"  Doctor  Morgan 

353 


354         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

interrupted  hastily.  "That  kind  of  a  heart  outlasts  the 
other  organs  sometimes.  The  doctor  twisted  the  heavy- 
linked  watch  chain  which  dangled  from  his  vest  pocket  as 
if  calling  upon  it  for  words.  "Of  course  an  out-of-doors 
life  is  best.  What  have  you  been  doing  of  late  ? "  he  asked. 

"Teaching  in  the  old  university  since  I  got  my  degree, 
but  they've  sent  me  out  like  a  broken-down  fire  horse. 
I'll  get  used  to  it, "  the  young  man  said  indifferently.  He 
was  accustomed  to  signs  of  hopelessness  when  his  case  was 
discussed,  and  was  unmoved  by  them. 

"Have  you  family  ties?"  the  doctor  asked.  He  liked 
the  grit  this  man's  manner  indicated. 

"None  that  need  to  be  counted,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

The  doctor  noticed  that  his  patient  wasted  no  extra 
words  in  self-pity.  "That's  good!  It  lessens  a  man's 
worries.  And  —  where  are  you  staying,  Mr.  Noland?" 

"At  the  hotel,  till  I  get  a  place  on  a  farm.  Before  I 
invest  I'm  going  to  get  my  bearings  about  farms,  by  work- 
ing around  till  I  get  on  to  things.  You  don't  know  of  a 
place  where  a  man  could  work  for  his  board  for  a  month 
till  the  spring  seeding  and  things  come  on  do  you?" 

He  was  pushing  the  cuticle  back  from  his  finger-nails 
as  they  talked,  and  Doctor  Morgan  smiled. 

"Those  hands  don't  look  much  like  farm  work,"  he 
said. 

The  man  laughed  easily.  "Oh,  that's  habit.  I'll  get 
over  it  after  a  while. " 

"You  will  if  you  work  for  these  yahoos  around  here 
much.  Why  don't  you  invest  in  land  and  have  your  own 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         355 

home  right  from  the  start?  A  man  like  you  can't  live  in 
the  kind  of  houses  and  do  the  kind  of  work  you'll  find  in 
this  country." 

"I  wouldn't  work  for  myself  —  I've  nothing  to  work 
for.  When  you  take  away  a  man's  chances  to  marry  and 
live  the  normal  life,  you  make  a  sluggard  of  him.  I've 
got  to  have  a  partner,  and  have  his  interests  to  serve  as 
well  as  my  own,  or  I  won't  work,  and  in  the  meantime  I 
want  to  look  about  a  bit  before  I  pick  up  some  one  to  go 
into  business  with.  I  won't  be  long  finding  some  one. " 

"No  whine  in  him,"  was  the  doctor's  mental  comment, 
but  what  he  said  was:  "Well,  you'll  find  life  about  here  a 
bit  dull.  Come  in,  and  make  yourself  at  home  in  this 
office  while  you're  in  town,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do 
about  finding  a  place  for  you. " 

After  he  had  watched  his  patient  swing  off  up  the  street 
he  considered  the  case  seriously. 

"College  athletics  do  just  about  tnat  sort  of  thing  for  a 
boy,"  he  said  aloud.  "Now  I  believe  Silas  Chamberlain 
would  take  him  for  his  board,  and  there  ain't  any  children 
there.  Children's  the  devil  in  a  farmhouse:  no  manners, 
and  they  set  right  on  top  of  you,  and  if  you  say  anything 
the  folks  are  hurt.  He's  a  nice  fellow,  and  I  intend  to  hold 
on  to  him.  It  was  like  old  times  to  talk  for  a  while  to  a 
man  that  knows  chemistry  and  things.  I'll  see  more  of 
him.  I'm  gettin'  old  altogether  too  fast  in  this  blamed 
hole.  I  need  some  one  to  talk  to  that's  more  like  a  man 
ought  to  be. " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

REVIVIFYING   FIRES 

IT  WAS  butchering  day  at  Silas  Chamberlain's  and 
Liza  Ann  had  the  household  astir  early.  Luther 
Hansen  was  master  of  ceremonies  in  the  back- 
yard, and  relieved  Silas  of  the  heavy  lifting.  It  was  a  day 
for  visiting  and  neighbourly  activity  as  well  as  hard  work. 
Hugh  Noland  had  been  sent  to  Silas  the  week  before  by 
Doctor  Morgan,  and  assisted  in  rolling  the  pork  barrel 
from  the  cellar  door  to  a  convenient  post  near  the  out-of- 
door  fire,  where  they  sunk  the  bottom  of  it  into  the  frozen 
earth  and  carefully  tilted  it  to  the  proper  angle  for  scald- 
ing purposes. 

"It's  fifteen  years  since  I've  been  at  'a  killing,'  and  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  ten  years  old  again,"  Noland  said  as  he 
watched  the  hard  earth  give  way  under  the  mattock 
Luther  wielded. 

"Go  hunt  a  straw  in  that  case,  and  I'll  see  that  you  get 
the  bladder.  Shall  I  save  you  the  pig's  tail?"  Luther 
said  as  he  settled  the  barrel  into  the  cavity. 

They  swung  the  great  iron  kettle  over  the  pile  of  kin- 
dling and  corncobs  laid  ready  for  lighting,  and  then  carried 
water  to  fill  it. 

As  the  last  bucket  was  emptied  into  the  kettle,  Luther 

356 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         357 

turned  and  swung  his  cap  at  John  Hunter  and  Jake,  who 
were  passing  in  the  bobsled. 

"Hunters,"  he  explained.     "Have  you  met  them  yet?" 

"No, "  replied  Noland.  "Who  are  they?  He  drives  a 
good  team." 

"Nearest  neighbours  on  th'  west  over  there,"  Luther 
said,  pointing  to  the  roofs  of  the  Hunter  place,  plainly  to 
be  seen  over  the  rise  of  land  between.  "They're  th'  folks 
for  you  t'  know  —  th'  only  ones  with  book-learnin' 
around  here.  Coin' t'  stay  with  th'  Chamberlains  long?" 

"No,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  look  of  reticence;  "that 
is,  only  for  a  time.  He  don't  hire  much,  he  tells  me.  I'm 
just  helping  him  till  he  gets  his  fencing  tightened  up  and 
this  work  done.  Why?" 

"Well,  I  was  just  a  thinkin'  that  that's  th'  place  for  you. 
Hunter  hires  a  lot  of  work  done,  and  —  and  you'd  like 
each  other.  You're  th'  same  kind  of  folks.  I  wonder 
how  he  come  t'  be  takin'  'is  man  along  t'  town  with  'im? 
Th'  was  a  trunk  in  th'  back  of  the  sled  too,  but  that  may 
'a'  been  for  Mrs.  Hunter.  That  was  'is  mother  with  'im. " 

There  was  not  much  time  to  speculate  about  future 
work,  there  was  much  to  be  done  in  the  present,  and  before 
noon  five  limp  bodies  had  been  dragged  from  the  pens  to 
the  scalding  barrel,  plunged  into  the  steaming  water, 
turned,  twisted,  turned  again,  and  after  being  churned 
back  and  forth  till  every  inch  of  the  black  hides  was  ready 
to  shed  its  coat  of  hair  and  scarf-skin,  were  drawn  out 
upon  the  wheelbarrow.  Then  a  gambol-stick  was  thrust 
through  the  tendons  of  the  hind  legs  and  the  hogs  were 


358         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

suspended  from  a  cross  pole  about  six  feet  from  the  ground, 
where  they  hung  while  the  great  corn-knives  scraped  and 
scratched  and  scrubbed  and  scoured  till  the  black  bodies 
gradually  lost  their  coating  and  became  pink  and  tender 
looking  and  perfectly  clean.  They  were  then  drawn  and 
left  to  cool  and  stiffen. 

The  sloppy,  misty  weather  made  the  work  hard  because 
of  the  frozen  earth  under  the  melting  snow,  and  the  steam- 
ing, half  foggy  atmosphere  was  too  warm  for  comfort  of 
men  working  over  an  open  fire  and  a  steaming  barrel  of 
hot  water,  but  by  noon  the  butchering  was  finished.  To 
the  new  man  it  was  a  journey  back  to  childhood.  How 
well  he  remembered  the  various  features  of  preparation: 
the  neighbours  asked  in  to  assist,  the  odours  pleasant  and 
unpleasant,  the  bustling  about  of  his  mother  as  she  baked 
and  boiled  and  stewed  for  the  company,  the  magic  circle 
about  the  pens  from  which  he  was  excluded  when  the  men 
went  forth  with  the  rifle,  and  the  squeal  which  followed 
the  rifle's  crack,  and  the  fear  which  gripped  him  when  he 
thought  the  poor  pig  was  hurt,  but  which  was  explained 
away  by  his  father,  who,  proud  of  his  marksmanship, 
assured  him  that  "that  pig  never  knew  what  hit  it." 

In  addition  to  the  fact  that  the  man  had  spent  his 
childhood  on  a  farm,  he  had  the  happy  faculty  of  entering 
into  the  life  of  the  people  among  whom  he  found  himself. 
He  entertained  the  little  group  at  the  dinner  table  that 
day  with  a  description  of  his  mother's  soap-making,  and 
discussed  the  best  ways  of  preparing  sausage  for  summer 
use  as  if  he  himself  were  a  cook;  and  as  Luther  listened  he 


THE  WINt)  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         359 

was  convinced  that  the  Hunter  home  was  the  proper  place 
for  him  to  settle  down. 

At  two  o'clock  Luther  started  home  with  some  spare- 
ribs,  wrapped  in  one  of  Liza  Ann's  clean  towels,  under  his 
arm.  It  was  early,  but  nothing  more  could  be  done  at 
Silas's  house  till  the  carcasses  were  cold  enough  to  cut  and 
trim,  and,  besides,  there  was  an  ominous  looking  bank  of 
dull  gray  cloud  in  the  northwest.  Luther  swung  along 
the  road  toward  the  west  energetically. 

The  wind  gave  a  little  twisting  flurry,  and  dropped  com- 
pletely when  he  was  about  halfway  between  Chamber- 
lain's and  the  Hunter  place.  A  few  minutes  later  there 
was  a  puff  of  wind  from  the  opposite  direction,  succeeded 
by  a  feeling  of  chill.  Luther  scanned  the  horizon  and 
stepped  faster.  When  the  advance  guard  of  fine  snow 
began  to  sift  down  from  the  leaden  sky  above,  he  started 
to  run.  He  had  lived  in  the  north,  and  knew  the  meaning 
of  the  rapidly  darkening  sky.  The  signs  were  unmistak- 
able. Presently  the  fine  flakes  began  to  rush  along  toward 
the  south  with  greater  force.  The  wind  came  on  steadily 
now.  Luther  looked  about  anxiously,  making  a  note  of 
the  location  of  things.  It  was  still  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to 
Hunter's.  As  he  peered  ahead,  wishing  himself  nearer 
protection,  with  a  roar  the  blizzard  fell  upon  him,  blotting 
out  the  landscape  before  him  as  completely  as  if  a  curtain 
had  fallen  between. 

With  all  his  might  Luther  struggled  forward.  The 
wind  came  from  the  right  side  and  almost  carried  him 
from  his  feet.  He  had  been  standing  over  a  steaming 


360         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

kettle  and  scalding  barrel  most  of  the  day,  and  the  icy 
blast  went  through  him,  chilling  his  blood  instantly. 
Luther  knew  his  danger.  This  was  not  a  cyclone  where 
men  were  carried  away  by  the  winds  of  summer;  this  was  a 
winter's  storm  where  men  could  freeze  to  death,  and  men 
froze  quickly  in  blizzards.  The  driving  particles  of  snow 
and  ice  made  it  impossible  to  look  ahead.  He  shielded 
his  face  with  his  right  arm,  and  tried,  as  he  hurried  for- 
ward, to  keep  in  mind  the  exact  direction  of  the  Hunter 
house.  If  he  could  only  reach  that  he  would  be  safe. 
The  road  was  a  new  one,  recently  opened,  and  not  well 
denned.  It  was  almost  at  once  obliterated.  Little 
needles  of  ice  thrust  themselves  at  him  with  stinging  force, 
and  he  could  not  see;  the  blinding  snow  whirled  and 
whistled  about  his  feet,  and  in  five  minutes  Luther  Han- 
sen  realized  that  he  had  got  out  of  the  road.  He  stopped 
in  alarm  and,  turning  his  back  to  the  storm,  tried  to  see 
about  him.  The  gray  wall  of  snow  completely  obscured 
every  object  from  his  sight.  He  had  a  sense  of  being  the 
only  thing  alive  in  the  universe;  all  else  seemed  to  have 
been  destroyed.  His  every  nerve  ached  with  the  cold, 
but  peer  about  as  he  would  he  could  not  possibly  tell  where 
he  was.  He  remembered  that  there  had  been  a  cornfield 
on  his  right,  and  thought  that  he  must  have  gone  too  far 
south,  for  he  was  certainly  in  the  meadow  now.  The 
pressure  of  the  wind,  he  reflected,  would  naturally  carry 
him  in  that  direction,  so  he  faced  around  and  started  on, 
bearing  stubbornly  toward  the  north.  Every  fibre  in 
him  shook;  no  cold  he  had  ever  felt  in  Minnesota  was 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        361 

equal  to  this;  there  was  a  quality  in  the  pressure  of  this 
cold  that  was  deadly.  The  wind  pierced  in  spite  of  every 
kind  of  covering.  Real  fear  began  to  lay  hold  upon  him. 
He  stumbled  easily;  the  action  of  his  limbs  began  to  give 
him  alarm.  The  package  of  spareribs  fell  from  under  his 
arm,  and  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  As  he  bent  over  the 
wind  caught  him  like  a  tumble-weed  and  threw  him  in  a 
shivering  heap  on  the  ground.  He  had  worn  no  mittens 
in  the  morning,  and  his  hands  stung  as  if  tortured  by  the 
lashes  of  many  whips.  To  ease  their  hurt  he  remained 
huddled  together  with  his  back  to  the  wind  while  he 
breathed  on  his  freezing  fingers,  but  remembered  that 
that  was  the  surest  way  to  add  to  the  nip  of  the  cold  in  a 
blast  which  condensed  the  breath  from  his  mouth  into  ici- 
cles before  it  had  time  to  get  away  from  his  moustache. 
Staggering  to  his  feet,  he  stumbled  on  toward  the  Hunter 
house,  trying  as  hard  as  his  fast  benumbing  senses  would 
permit  to  bear  toward  the  wind  and  the  cornfield  at  the 
right.  He  had  not  picked  up  the  package  —  had  forgot- 
ten it  in  fact  —  and  now  he  tried  to  beat  his  freezing  hands 
across  his  shoulders  as  he  ran.  The  bitter  wind  could  not 
be  endured,  and  he  crossed  his  hands,  thrusting  them  into 
his  sleeves,  hoping  to  warm  them  somehow  on  his  wrists; 
but  with  eyes  uncovered  he  could  not  gauge  his  steps,  and 
stumbled  and  fell.  Unable  to  get  his  hands  out  of  his 
sleeves  in  time  to  protect  himself,  he  tripped  forward 
awkwardly  and  scratched  his  face  on  the  cut  stubs  of  the 
meadow-grass.  Evidently  he  had  not  reached  the  road  as 
yet.  He  knew  the  road  so  well  that  he  could  have  kept  it 


362         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

with  a  bandage  over  his  eyes  but  for  the  wind  which 
thrust  him  uncertainly  from  his  course.  It  was  that  which 
was  defeating  him.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  keep 
his  attention  fixed  upon  the  necessity  of  staying  near  that 
cornfield.  Determined  to  find  it  before  he  proceeded 
farther  toward  the  west,  he  faced  the  wind  squarely,  and, 
bracing  his  body  firmly,  hurried  as  fast  as  he  could  toward 
the  stalkfield. 

After  a  time  he  seemed  to  wake  up;  he  was  not  facing 
the  wind,  and  he  was  aching  miserably.  Luther  Hansen 
knew  what  that  meant:  he  was  freezing.  Already  the 
lethargy  of  sleep  weighted  each  dragging  foot.  He 
thought  of  the  nest  an  old  sow  had  been  building  in  the 
pen  next  to  the  one  where  the  killing  had  been  done  that 
day.  With  the  instincts  of  her  kind,  the  mother-pig  had 
prepared  for  the  storm  by  making  a  bed  where  it  would  be 
sheltered.  Luther's  mind  dwelt  lingeringly  upon  its  cozy 
arrangement;  every  atom  of  his  body  craved  shelter. 
Death  by  freezing  faced  him  already,  though  he  had  been 
in  the  grip  of  the  storm  but  one  short  quarter  of  an  hour. 
He  had  lost  consciousness  of  time:  he  only  knew  that  he 
was  freezing  within  sight  of  home.  Nothing  but  action 
could  save  him.  Nerving  himself  for  another  trial,  the 
bewildered  man  turned  toward  the  north  and  walked  into 
the  very  teeth  of  the  storm,  searching  for  the  lost  trail. 
Sometimes  he  thought  his  foot  had  found  it;  then  it  would 
be  lost  again.  He  wandered  on  hours,  days,  weeks  —  he 
wandered  shivering  over  the  meadow,  the  road,  the  state 
of  Kansas  —  over  the  whole  globe  and  through  all  space, 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         363 

till  at  last  a  great  wall  shut  off  the  offending  wind,  the 
roar  of  the  planets  lessened,  and  the  numb  and  frozen  man 
fell  forward  insensible,  striking  his  head  against  a  dark 
obstruction  thrusting  its  shoulder  through  a  bank  of  dirty 
gray  snow. 

The  sound  of  a  heavy  body  falling  on  her  doorstep 
brought  Elizabeth  Hunter  to  the  door.  She  opened  it 
cautiously.  The  snow  swirled  in  as  it  was  drawn  back 
and  the  heated  air  of  the  sitting  room  rushed  out,  forming 
a  cloud  of  steam  which  almost  prevented  her  from  seeing 
the  helpless  figure  at  her  feet.  She  could  not  distinguish 
the  features,  but  it  was  a  man,  and  the  significance  of  his 
presence  was  plain.  Seizing  him  about  the  body,  Eliza- 
beth dragged  him  into  the  house,  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him  to  keep  out  the  blast. 

"Luther  Hansen!"  she  exclaimed. 

Finding  that  she  could  not  arouse  him,  she  pulled  the 
relaxed  and  nerveless  form  to  the  lounge,  but  when  she 
attempted  to  lift  the  limp  figure  to  the  couch  she  found  it 
almost  more  than  all  her  woman's  strength  could  ac- 
complish. Luther  stirred  and  muttered,  but  could  not 
be  awakened  sufficiently  to  help  himself,  and  it  was  only 
after  some  minutes  and  the  putting  forth  of  every 
ounce  of  strength  that  the  girl  had  that  he  was  at  last 
stretched  upon  the  lounge.  Elizabeth  brought  blan- 
kets to  cover  the  shivering,  muttering,  delirious  man, 
and  having  heard  that  the  frost  must  be  drawn  grad- 
ually from  frozen  extremities,  and  being  unable  to  get 
his  hands  and  feet  into  cold  water,  she  brought  and 


364         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

wrapped  wet  towels  about  them,  and  chafed  his  frozen 
face. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  white  nose  and  cheeks 
began  to  show  colour;  then  the  ears  became  scarlet,  and 
pain  began  to  sting  the  man  into  consciousness.  The 
chafing  hurt,  and  Luther  fought  off  the  hands  that  rubbed 
so  tenderly. 

Gradually  Luther  Hansen  awoke  to  his  surroundings. 
Delirium  and  reality  mixed  helplessly  for  some  moments. 
He  remembered  his  struggles  to  reach  the  Hunter  house, 
but  the  gap  in  the  train  of  his  affairs  made  him  suspect 
that  this  was  a  phase  of  delirium  and  that  he  was 
in  reality  freezing.  He  was  stinging  all  over.  He 
wanted  to  find  out  where  he  was,  and  tried  to  get  upon  his 
feet. 

"You  are  right  here  in  my  house,  Luther,"  Elizabeth 
said,  holding  him  on  his  pillow. 

Luther  relaxed  and  lay  looking  at  her  for  some  time 
before  he  asked: 

"How  did  I  get  here,  Lizzie?" 

"I  don't  know,  Luther,"  she  replied.  "I  heard  you 
fall  on  the  doorstep.  I  never  was  so  surprised.  How  did 
you  come  to  be  out  —  and  without  mittens  too?" 

She  removed  the  wet  towel  from  one  of  his  hands,  and 
he  drew  it  away  with  a  groan. 

"  I  expect,  Lizzie,  it's  frozen.  You  better  rub  it  with 
snow. " 

The  question  of  how  he  reached  her  house  puzzled 
Luther  throughout  the  long  afternoon  and  evening,  while 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         365 

they  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  talked  of  the 
unsheltered  cattle  in  the  many  Kansas  stalkfields. 

"The  only  thing  that  kept  our  cattle  from  being  out  of 
doors  was  the  fact  that  Jake  had  to  go  to  Iowa  and  John 
had  to  take  him  to  town,"  Elizabeth  had  said  at  one 
point. 

"Has  Jake  left  for  good?"  Luther  asked  hesitatingly. 
He  knew  John's  unpopularity  with  the  men  who  worked 
for  him  and  was  a  little  afraid  to  ask  Elizabeth,  who  might 
be  sensitive  about  it. 

"No.  Jake  has  lost  his  mother,  but  he'll  come  back  for 
the  spring  seeding.  Jake's  a  good  man;  he  and  John 
seem  to  get  along  pretty  well. "  It  was  Elizabeth's  turn 
to  speak  hesitatingly.  She  did  not  know  how  much 
Luther  knew  of  John's  affairs  with  his  men,  nor  what 
opinion  Jake  might  have  expressed  to  Luther. 

"Jake's  a  curious  cubl  He's  been  your  dog,  Lizzie, 
ever  since  that  school  business.  I've  heard  'im  tell  it  over 
twenty  times.' 

"I  wish  we  could  find  another  like  him,"  Elizabeth  said 
wistfully.  "John  isn't  able  to  take  care  of  all  this  stock 
unless  he  gets  a  man  in  Colebyville  to-day,  and  —  and  if 
he  did,  the  man,  as  likely  as  not,  wouldn't  stay  more  than 
a  week  or  two. " 

Luther  Hansen  looked  up  eagerly. 

"Lizzie,  I've  found  th'  very  man  for  you  folks.  He'll 
stay  too.  He's  a  fellow  by  th'  name  of  Noland  —  workin' 
for  Chamberlain,  an'  wants  a  job  right  soon  —  got  a  lot  of 
book-learnin'  —  just  your  kind. " 


366         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"I'll  have  John  see  him  when  he  gets  home,"  Elizabeth 
answered  indifferently.  "My!  I  wonder  when  they  will 
be  able  to  get  back?"  she  added. 

"They  wasn't  through  tradin' when  this  thing  come  on," 
Luther  replied.  "Anyhow,  houses  was  too  thick  t'  get 
lost  th'  first  half  of  th'  way.  Listen  to  that  wind,  though! 
I'm  glad  t'  be  here  if  I  do  look  like  a  turkey  gobbler  with 
these  ears,"  he  laughed. 

It  was  so  cold  that  Elizabeth  had  built  a  roaring  fire, 
and  to  keep  the  snow,  which  penetrated  every  crack,  from 
sifting  under  the  door,  she  laid  old  coats  and  carpets  across 
the  sill.  She  brought  coal  and  cobs  from  the  shed,  stop- 
ping each  trip  to  get  warm,  for  even  to  go  the  twenty  steps 
required  to  get  to  the  cobhouse  was  to  experience  more 
cold  than  she  had  ever  encountered  in  all  the  days  when 
she  had  plowed  through  the  snows  of  Kansas  winters  while 
teaching;  in  fact,  had  the  fuel  been  much  farther  from  her 
door  she  would  hardly  have  ventured  out  for  it  at  all  in  a 
wind  which  drove  one  out  of  his  course  at  every  fresh  step 
and  so  confused  and  blinded  him  that  the  points  of  the 
compass  were  a  blank,  and  paths  could  not  be  located  for 
the  drifts,  which  ran  in  every  direction  the  swirling  wind 
chose  to  build  them.  She  had  gone  around  the  shed  to  the 
back  door,  knowing  that  the  front  door  being  on  the  wind- 
ward side  could  not  be  shut  again  if  once  opened,  and  the 
few  extra  steps  necessary  to  creep  around  the  building 
froze  her  to  the  bone,  for  the  eddying  wind  had  carried  the 
snow  deep  at  that  point  and,  being  enough  sheltered  to 
prevent  packing,  had  left  it  a  soft  pile  into  which  she  sank 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         367 

almost  to  her  waist.  She  was  obliged  to  hunt  for  a  shovel 
and  clear  the  snow  out  of  the  doorway  when  she  was 
through,  and  her  hands  were  completely  numbed  when 
she  reached  the  house  after  it  was  over.  With  the  feeling 
that  she  might  not  be  able  to  reach  the  shed  at  all  in  the 
morning,  or  that  the  doors  might  be  drifted  shut  alto- 
gether, Elizabeth  had  taken  enough  cobs  and  coal  into 
the  kitchen  to  half  fill  the  room  and  was  ready  to  with- 
stand a  siege  of  days,  but  she  paid  toll  with  aching  hands 
and  feet  that  frightened  Luther  into  a  new  realization  of 
the  nature  of  the  storm. 

When  at  last  the  one  fire  Elizabeth  thought  it  wise  to 
keep  up  was  rebuilt  and  dry  shoes  had  replaced  the  wet 
ones,  she  settled  down  beside  the  lounge,  with  her  feet  in 
another  chair  to  keep  them  off  the  cold  floor,  and  turned  to 
Luther  expectantly. 

"This  storm's  awful,  as  you  say,"  she  said  in  reply  to 
his  observation  that  it  might  hold  for  days,  "but  I'm  just 
so  glad  of  a  real  chance  for  a  visit  with  you  that  I'm  quite 
willing  to  bring  cobs  and  keep  fires. " 

"If  that's  true,  why  don't  you  come  t'  see  us  as  you 
ought  t',  Lizzie?"  Luther  said,  looking  her  searchingly  in 
the  eye.  "  I  never  meddle  in  other  people's  business,  but 
you  ain't  th'  stuck-up  thing  folks  says  you  are.  Honest 
now,  why  don't  you  do  as  a  neighbour  should?" 

Elizabeth  Hunter's  face  flushed  crimson  and  she  leaned 
forward  to  tuck  the  old  coat,  in  which  she  had  wrapped 
her  feet,  more  closely  about  them  while  she  took  time  to 
get  herself  ready  to  answer  the  paralyzing  question.  The 


368         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

longer  she  waited  the  harder  it  became  to  meet  the  kindly 
questioning  eyes  bent  upon  her,  and  the  more  embar- 
rassing it  became  to  answer  at  all.  She  fumbled  and 
tucked  and  was  almost  at  the  point  of  tears  when  Jack, 
who  was  asleep  on  a  bed  made  on  two  chairs,  began  to 
fret.  Seizing  the  welcome  means  of  escape,  she  got  up 
and  took  the  child,  sitting  down  a  little  farther  away  from 
Luther  and  hugging  the  baby  as  if  he  were  a  refuge  from 
threatened  harm. 

Luther  felt  the  distance  between  them,  but  decided  to 
force  the  issue.  He  came  about  it  from  another  quarter, 
but  with  inflexible  determination. 

"I  hope  Sadie  got  her  kindling  in  before  the  storm 
began.  It'll  be  awful  cold  in  th'  mornin',  and  —  I  do 
wish  I  could  'a'  got  home.  Sadie's  fires  always  go  out." 

"Your  cobs  are  closer  to  the  house  than  mine;  Sadie  '11 
get  along  all  right. " 

"How  do  you  know  where  our  cobhouse  is  now,  Lizzie? 
You  ain't  seen  it  for  over  a  year,"  Luther  observed  quietly. 
And  when  Elizabeth  did  not  reply,  said  with  his  eyes 
fastened  on  Jack's  half-asleep  face:  "I  wonder  how 
Janie  is?" 

Glad  to  talk  of  anything  but  herself  and  her  own  affairs, 
Elizabeth  answered  with  feverish  readiness  the  last  half  of 
Luther's  observation. 

"You  never  told  me  what  the  baby's  name  was  before. 
Isn't  it  sweet?" 

"Do  you  know,  Lizzie,  that  Sadie  'd  most  made  'er 
mind  up  t'  call  it  after  you,  if  it  was  a  girl,  if  you'd  'a'  come 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         369 

t'  be  with  'er  when  it  was  born,  as  you  said  you  would  ? " 
Luther  looked  at  her  almost  tenderly,  and  with  a  yearn- 
ing beyond  words. 

"After  me?  She  didn't  send  for  me  when  she  was  sick, 
Luther." 

"No,  but  she  would  'a',  if  you'd  'a'  come  as  you  ought 
t'  'a'  done  them  months  when  she  wasn't  goin'  out. "  He 
looked  at  her  penetratingly. 

"I  haven't  been  anywhere  since  Aunt  Susan's  death," 
Elizabeth  evaded,  determined  not  to  recognize  his  trend. 

"You  could  'a'  come  before  her  death,  there  was  plenty 
of  time.  Now  look  here,  I  ain't  goin'  t'  beat  about  th' 
bush.  I'm  talkin'  square.  You  can't  git  away  from  me. 
You've  had  th'  best  chance  a  woman  ever  had  t'  help 
another  woman,  an*  you  didn't  take  it.  Sadie  was  that 
took  by  what  you  said  about  bein'  glad  for  th'  chance  t' 
have  your  baby,  an'  th'  idea  of  helpin'  him  t'  have  th' 
best  disposition  you  could  give  'im,  that  she  didn't  talk  of 
nothin'  else  for  weeks,  an'  she  looked  for  you  till  she  was 
sick,  an'  you  never  come.  I  want  t'  know  why  ? " 

Elizabeth  Hunter  had  come  to  the  judgment-bar;  she 
could  not  escape  these  cross-questions,  neither  could  she 
answer.  Her  face  grew  white  as  Luther  Hansen  looked 
searchingly  into  it,  and  her  breath  came  hard  and  harder 
as  he  looked  and  waited.  This  chance  to  talk  to  Luther 
was  like  wine  to  her  hungry  soul,  but  John  Hunter  was  her 
husband  and  she  refused  to  accuse  him  even  after  the  long 
months  of  despair  she  had  suffered  at  his  hands.  Luther 
let  her  gather  herself  for  her  reply,  not  adding  a  word  to 


370         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  demand  for  truth  and  friendship.  How  he  trusted  her 
in  spite  of  it  all!  He  watched  her  indecision  change  to 
indignation  at  his  insistence,  and  he  saw  her  head  grow 
clear  as  she  decided  upon  her  course. 

"  I  will  not  discuss  the  past  with  you,  Luther, "  she  said 
slowly,  as  one  who  comes  to  a  conclusion  as  he  proceeds. 
"I  cannot  tell  you  all  the  things  which  have  led  up  to  it. 
I  am  going  to  ask  you  not  to  mention  it  to  me  again,  but 
I  will  try  to  do  it  better  next  time.  I  had  no  idea  that 
Sadie  cared  whether  I  came  to  see  her  or  not;  she  had  al- 
ways seemed  to  dislike  me."  Elizabeth  added  the  last 
hesitatingly  lest  she  hurt  Luther's  feelings. 

"Lizzie,  I  won't  be  put  off.  If  you  don't  want  t'  tell 
me  why  you've  done  as  you  have,  I  won't  ask  you  t',  but 
you've  got  t'  let  me  talk  t'  you  about  it  all  th'  same.  I 
ain't  a  man  t'  let  myself  mix  up  in  my  neighbours'  affairs, 
but,  Lizzie,  you  ought  t'  live  up  t'  th'  things  God's  put  int' 
your  power  t'  do.  Now,  then,  you  let  folks  get  a  wrong 
idea  of  you.  You've  got  more  education  'n  anybody  else's 
got  in  this  country,  an'  you've  got  more  money,  an'  you've 
got  more  everything  'n  th'  rest  of  us,  an'  what's  it  been 
give  t'  you  for  if  it  ain't  goin'  t'  come  t'  nothin'?  Here 
you've  had  th'  best  chance  t'  do  somethin'  for  a  neighbour 
woman  a  woman  ever  had:  Sadie's  been  that  took  with  th' 
things  you  said  about  children  that  she  was  ready  t'  listen 
t'  you  on  anything,  an'  you  won't  let  'er  have  a  chance  t' 
get  at  you  at  all  —  an'  ain't  she  come  out?  You'd  have 
t'  live  with  'er,  Lizzie,  t'  know  what  that  little  woman's 
done  fur  herself  this  last  year  —  an'  it  was  you  that 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         371 

helped  t'  do  it.  Honest,  now,  don't  you  see  yourself  that 
if  you've  had  things  give  t'  you  that  th'  rest  ain't  had 
that  you  owe  somethin'  t'  th'  rest  of  us?" 

In  all  the  weary  discordant  time  when  she  had  struggled 
for  better  conditions  Elizabeth  Hunter  had  never  thought 
of  anything  in  the  situation  but  the  bettering  of  her  own 
surroundings.  It  had  been  the  suffering  of  blind  stupid- 
ity, of  youth,  of  the  human  being  too  deeply  submerged  to 
think  of  aught  but  personal  affairs.  Luther  drew  her 
attention  to  the  main  facts  of  her  life,  drawing  her  away 
from  self.  It  was  a  simple  occurrence,  a  simple  subject,  a 
simple  question:  it  was  in  itself  the  reason  for  the  perpetu- 
ation of  their  friendship.  The  winds  blew,  the  snow  found 
its  way  under  door  and  sash  and  heaped  itself  in  ridges 
across  the  floor,  and  in  spite  of  the  roaring  fire  they  were 
not  always  warm,  but  throughout  the  night  Elizabeth  sat 
beside  her  lifelong  friend  and  drew  in  a  revivifying  fire 
which  was  to  remould  and  make  over  a  life  which  had 
almost  flickered  to  a  smouldering  resentment  and  inac- 
tivity. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ADJUSTING  DOMESTIC  TO   SOCIAL  IDEALS 

THE  next  morning  the  wind  blew  the  fine  snow  in 
one  vast  driving  cloud;  it  was  impossible  to  see  a 
hundred  feet.  Elizabeth  knew  that  the  stock  was 
suffering,  but  was  almost  certain  that  she  could  not  reach 
them.  It  would  not  be  hard  to  reach  the  barn,  since  the 
wind  would  be  with  her,  but  to  return  would  be  a  different 
matter.  To  feel  that  she  had  done  all  that  she  could,  she 
went  as  far  as  the  gate,  and  when  she  could  not  see  the 
house  from  that  point  was  sufficiently  warned  and  strug- 
gled back  to  safety.  No  sound  but  that  of  the  storm  came 
to  her  even  at  the  gate,  but  she  was  certain  that  the 
famishing  cattle  were  calling  for  food.  Her  day  was  con- 
sumed in  the  care  of  Luther's  inflamed  hands  and  feet. 
The  only  remedy  she  knew  was  wet  cloths  and  she  worked 
anxiously  to  reduce  the  swelling  and  congestion. 

About  four  o'clock  the  wind  dropped.  Though  the  air 
was  still  full  of  fine  snow,  Elizabeth  wrapped  herself  in 
John's  old  overcoat  and  muffler,  and  putting  a  pair  of 
Jake's  heavy  mittens  on  her  hands,  and  taking  the  milk- 
pails  on  her  arm  to  save  a  trip  back  for  them,  she  went 
to  the  barn. 

The  barn  door  stuck,  with  the  snow  which  had  col- 

372 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         373 

lected  in  the  runway,  and  she  had  to  fumble  for  some  time 
before  it  would  come  open.  A  perfect  babel  of  voices 
greeted  her.  Jake  had  left  the  south  door  of  the  barn 
ajar  when  he  left  that  morning,  and  the  eddying  snow  had 
banked  itself  along  the  entire  centre  of  the  building. 
Patsie  stood  in  the  stall  nearest  the  door,  humped  up  with 
the  cold,  and  with  a  layer  of  snow  on  her  hips  and  spread- 
ing black  tail.  She  turned  sidewise  and  pawed  furiously, 
giving  shrill  little  whinnies  as  Elizabeth  seized  a  half- 
bushel  measure  and  waded  through  the  snow  to  the  oats 
bin. 

"No,  corn's  better  this  cold  weather,"  the  girl  said 
aloud,  and  hurried  to  the  other  bin.  Soon  the  horses 
were  making  noise  enough  to  inflame  the  appetites  of  the 
other  animals,  who  redoubled  their  cries. 

She  investigated  the  pens  and  found  the  hogs  in  good 
condition,  but  the  drifts  so  high  as  to  make  it  possible  for 
them  to  make  neighbourly  visits  from  pen  to  pen,  and  even 
into  the  cattle  yard.  It  was  a  struggle  to  carry  the  heavy 
ear  corn  from  the  crib  to  the  pens,  but  it  was  done,  and 
then  Elizabeth  turned  her  attention  to  the  excited  cattle. 

Taking  time  to  rest  and  get  her  breath,  Elizabeth 
noticed  that  a  few  of  the  hogs  had  not  come  to  get  their 
feed,  and  went  to  investigate  the  cause.  They  seemed  to 
be  fighting  over  some  choice  morsel  on  the  far  side  of  the 
cattle  yard.  At  first  she  thought  that  it  was  one  of  their 
number  that  they  were  fighting  about,  but  as  she  ap- 
proached the  knot,  one  of  them  ran  off  to  one  side  dragging 
something,  its  head  held  high  to  avoid  stepping  on  the 


374         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

grewsome  thing  it  carried.  One  of  the  young  cows  had 
lost  her  calf  in  the  freezing  storm,  and  the  hogs  were  fight- 
ing over  its  torn  and  mangled  body.  Elizabeth  sought 
out  the  little  mother,  and  segregating  her  from  the  herd, 
drove  her  into  the  straw  cow-stable,  where  she  would  be 
sheltered.  The  other  milch  cows  had  been  left  in  their 
stalls  by  the  men  the  day  before,  and  snorted  and  tugged 
at  their  ropes  as  the  newcomer  appeared.  Elizabeth  tied 
the  heifer,  and  then  shut  the  door  after  her  and  returned 
to  the  unprotected  herd  outside. 

The  fodder  was  so  full  of  snow  that  it  was  impossible  for 
the  girl  to  handle  it  at  all,  so  she  dug  the  ladder  out  of  the 
snow  and  placed  it  against  the  long  hayrick  beside  the 
fence  and  forked  the  hay  over  into  the  racks  below.  It 
required  every  ounce  of  strength  she  had  to  throw  the 
hay  clear  of  the  stack  and  in  line  with  the  racks  where  the 
cattle  could  reach  it,  but  the  girl  worked  with  a  will,  while 
the  cattle  fought  for  best  places,  or  any  place  at  all,  and 
reached  hungry  tongues  for  the  sweet  hay. 

Elizabeth  worked  with  joy  and  energy.  The  mood  of 
the  storm  was  upon  the  girl.  Not  before  in  all  the  months 
she  had  been  married  had  she  ever  moved  in  perfect  free- 
dom in  her  native  out-of-doors  element.  It  was  a  gift  of 
the  gods  and  not  to  be  despised  or  neglected,  for  to-mor- 
row would  come  John  —  and  prison  bars.  Before  she  had 
b^gun,  she  faced  the  wind,  and  with  bounding  joy  looked 
over  the  drifted  fields  toward  the  north  and  northeast. 
The  air  was  clearing.  The  world  looked  different  from 
this  lofty  position.  She  was  Elizabeth  again,  Elizabeth 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         375 

transformed  and  made  new.  The  lethargy  of  recent 
months  had  slipped  away;  something  about  the  rush  and 
motion  of  things  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours  inspired 
her;  the  fierce  winds  of  yesterday  and  to-day  stirred  her 
spirit  to  do,  to  be  in  motion  herself.  They  had  com- 
municated their  energy,  their  life,  their  free  and  ungov- 
erned  humour.  Elizabeth's  thoughts  ran  on  as  fast  as  her 
blood.  She  thought  of  Luther,  and  of  all  he  had  said  to 
her,  of  her  neglected  opportunities  which  he  had  pointed 
out  to  her,  and  wondered  modestly  if  he  were  right,  and 
then  knew  that  he  was.  She  thought  of  how  she,  the  out- 
of-door  prisoner  of  her  father's  home,  had  become  the 
indoor  prisoner  of  her  husband's  home.  She  had  thought 
that  to  marry  and  escape  her  father's  grasp  was  to  possess 
herself;  but  Elizabeth  Hunter  saw  that  as  a  wife  she  was 
really  much  less  free.  She  thought  of  the  sacrifices  she 
had  made  in  the  hope  of  securing  harmony,  and  she 
thought  of  the  futility  of  it  all.  She  decided  that  if  a 
woman  were  enslaved  it  was  because  she  herself  per- 
mitted it,  that  to  yield  where  she  should  stand  fast  did  not 
secure  a  man's  love,  it  only  secured  his  contempt  and 
increased  his  demands.  In  the  three  years  she  had  been 
married  she  had  not  been  permitted  an  hour  of  real  com- 
panionship until  the  accident  of  this  storm  had  brought  an 
old  friend  to  her  door  and  kept  him  there  till  she  had  had 
a  chance  to  realize  the  mental  depths  to  which  she  had 
fallen  in  her  isolation.  In  all  the  time  she  had  been 
married  she  had  not  thought  of  anything  but  the  bare 
details  of  their  daily  life.  A  woman  had  to  have  the 


376         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

association  of  congenial  people  to  keep  her  from  falling 
into  housekeeping  dry-rot.  For  thirty-six  hours  she  had 
possessed  herself,  and  in  that  time  she  had  renewed  her 
youth  and  acquired  a  new  outlook.  As  she  stood  looking 
across  the  fields,  her  eyes  fell  on  Nathan  Hornby's  chim- 
ney. The  wind  had  dropped  so  completely  that  the  air 
had  cleared  of  snow,  and  the  curling  smoke  from  a  freshly 
built  fire  arose  in  the  frosty  air,  sending  a  thrill  of  home- 
sickness through  her  as  she  pictured  the  orderly  kitchen 
in  which  that  fire  was  built.  Was  it  orderly  now  that 
its  guardian  angel  was  gone?  The  hideous  cruelty  of  a 
neglect  which  kept  her  from  knowing  whether  it  was  well 
kept  swept  over  her.  Once  she  would  have  spent  herself 
in  emotionalism  and  tears  at  remembrance  of  it,  but 
Elizabeth  had  advanced. 

"I'll  go  and  see  him  to-morrow,  or  as  soon  as  the  roads 
are  fit, "  was  her  resolve.  "  Luther's  right;  he  usually  is. " 

The  cattle  calling  from  below  brought  her  back  to  the 
necessities  of  the  hour.  Laying  hold  of  the  frosty  pitch- 
fork she  renewed  her  attack  upon  the  hay  and  continued 
till  the  racks  were  filled.  By  the  time  the  ladder  was  put 
away  again  her  hands  were  stinging  till  it  was  impossible 
to  work,  and  she  ran  to  the  barn  where  she  could  put  them 
against  Patsie's  flank  while  she  blew  her  warm  breath 
upon  them.  Patsie  was  ticklish  and  twitched  her  loose 
hide  nervously  and  gnawed  at  her  feed-box  with  little 
squeals  of  excitement.  The  feed-box  was  of  two-inch 
lumber  instead  of  the  usual  sort.  It  was  like  all  John  did : 
so  much  attention  put  in  one  place  there  was  no  time  for 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         377 

the  rest;  well  done,  but  much  left  undone.  Everything 
about  John's  barn  was  orderly  and  well  built.  There  had 
been  a  time  when  she  had  rejoiced  at  what  seemed  to  be 
thrift,  but  to-day  she  saw  it  from  a  new  angle;  Mr.  Farn- 
shaw  had  wastefully  let  his  machinery  rot  and  his  stock 
perish  from  cold,  but  here  was  wastefulness  of  another 
sort;  Elizabeth  speculated  on  the  cost  of  this  barn  and 
thought  of  the  interest  to  be  paid. 

On  her  way  to  the  cow-stable  where  the  little  mother 
whose  calf  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  cold  awaited  her,  she 
thought  of  the  toolroom  where  she  had  gone  for  her  feed. 
A  forty-dollar  set  of  harness  hung  there:  Carter's  harness 
had  chains  instead  of  leather  tugs,  and  would  outwear 
them  several  times  over.  It  was  an  orderly  toolroom:  the 
bridles  occupied  a  row  over  the  collars,  names  and  back- 
bands  came  next,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  on 
six-inch  spikes,  hung  extra  clevises,  buckles,  straps,  and 
such  materials  as  accidents  to  farm  machinery  required. 
John's  mending  was  well  provided  for  and  well  done. 
Elizabeth  would  have  loved  just  this  sort  of  order  if  it 
had  not  been  so  costly. 

The  little  cow  was  so  hungry  that  she  hardly  knew  that 
she  was  giving  her  milk  into  a  foreign  receptacle  till  a  voice 
at  the  stable  door  made  her  jump  so  violently  that  the  pail 
was  knocked  over  and  Elizabeth  had  to  scramble  hastily 
to  avoid  a  similar  fate. 

"Well,  now,  there  you  be!    Gosh-a-livin's! " 

Silas  Chamberlain  never  finished  that  speech.  The 
milk  from  the  rolling  pail  spattered  over  his  feet  as  he 


378         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

sprang  to  Elizabeth's  rescue.  The  little  cow  tore  at  the 
rope  that  held  her,  and  every  mate  she  had  in  the  stable 
joined  her  in  snorting  and  threatening  to  bolt  over  the 
mangers.  The  old  man,  "  So-bossied, "  and  vented  all  the 
soothing  cattle  talk  he  could  command  while  he  looked  on 
in  embarrassed  confusion. 

"Now  ain't  that  jes'  like  me?"  he  queried  in  dismay. 
"Look  what  I've  gone  an'  done!"  He  picked  up  the 
empty  pail  and  handed  it  to  the  man  that  was  with  him 
to  keep  it  from  being  trampled  upon  by  the  plunging  cows, 
while  he  tried  to  establish  confidential  relations  with  them. 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Chamberlain.  She's  only  a  heifer 
and  never  milked  before.  She  wouldn't  have  let  me  get 
that  far  without  trouble,  anyhow,  if  she  hadn't  been  so 
hungry.  The  hogs  killed  her  calf  last  night  or  this  morn- 
ing and  I  thought  I'd  milk  her  before  I  began  on  the  rest. 
I  don't  suppose  John  can  get  home  before  to-morrow 
night,  and  the  chores  had  to  be  done.  Here,  there's  an 
extra  bucket  or  two.  Do  you  want  to  help  milk?  They'll 
quit  fussing  in  a  minute." 

"'Course  I  do.  That's  what  Noland  an'  I  come  for. 
This  is  Mrs.  Hunter,  Noland,"  Silas  said,  remembering 
formalities  at  the  last  moment.  "We  thought  John 
wouldn't  'a'  got  back  'fore  th'  storm  come  on.  Now  let's 
get  this  milkin'  done  'fore  dark  or  we'll  be  havin'  t'  ask  for 
a  lantern." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Chamberlain,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Luther 
Hansen  got  caught  in  the  storm  and  nearly  froze," 
Elizabeth  said  when  they  had  settled  themselves  to  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         379 

work.  "He's  at  our  house  now;  his  feet  and  hands  are 
awful.  I  think  they're  all  right,  but  I  wish  we  could  get 
at  Doctor  Morgan. " 

The  old  man  nearly  upset  the  milk  a  second  time  in  his 
astonishment,  and  the  milking  was  cut  as  short  as  could 
decently  be  done  so  as  to  get  to  the  house.  The  early 
winter  night  had  settled  down  and  the  sting  of  the  cold 
was  paralyzing  as  they  hastened  in.  Silas  went  straight 
to  Luther,  and  Elizabeth  and  the  new  man  brought  a 
fresh  supply  of  coal  and  cobs  before  they  went  in.  They 
met  Silas  coming  out  as  they  carried  the  last  basketful 
from  the  shed. 

"I'm  goin'  right  over  t  tell  Sadie,"  he  announced.  "I 
brought  Noland  over  to  help,  but  Luther  says  you're 
goin' t'  need  'im  right  along,  an'  I'll  jes'  leave  'im  for  good. 
You'll  like  each  other  an'  he'll  want  t'  stay  as  bad  as 
you'll  want  'im." 

Silas  had  poured  the  whole  arrangement  out,  and  as  it 
was  about  what  was  necessary  it  was  accepted. 

The  presence  of  a  stranger  necessitated  more  formal 
housekeeping,  and  when  the  new  man  came  back  from 
helping  Silas  saddle  Patsie  he  found  the  kitchen  in  order 
and  the  savoury  smell  of  fresh  biscuits  and  ham.  A 
small  table  was  placed  beside  Luther,  and  the  ham  and 
hot  things  had  a  seasoning  of  brilliant,  intellectual  con- 
versation, for  the  man  from  college  was  adept  at  enter- 
taining his  fellow  men  and  showed  his  best  powers. 

Elizabeth  was  too  tired  to  stay  awake  long  and  she  left 
him  and  Luther  chatting,  after  she  had  shown  Mr.  Noland 


380         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

where  he  was  to  sleep  and  had  filled  the  cold  bed  with  hot 
flatirons  to  take  the  chill  from  the  icy  sheets.  However 
happy  she  may  have  been  while  feeding  the  stock,  she  had 
to  acknowledge  that  the  loss  of  sleep  the  night  before  and 
the  unaccustomed  use  of  the  pitchfork  had  made  of  her 
bed  a  desirable  place.  She  awoke  when  the  stranger  went 
up  the  stairs,  but  was  asleep  before  his  footsteps  had 
reached  the  room  above  her.  A  tantalizing  remembrance 
of  his  face  disturbed  her  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  tired  nature  carried  her  back  to  the  land  of 
dreams.  She  had  seen  him  somewhere,  but  where,  she 
was  too  sleepy  to  think  out. 

The  next  morning  Silas  came  with  his  bobsled  and  they 
helped  Luther  into  a  chair  and  carried  him  in  it  to  the 
sled  and  so  to  his  home.  John  and  his  mother  came  a 
little  after  noon,  and  the  girl  watched  to  see  how  her  hus- 
band would  like  the  new  man,  half  afraid  that  because  she 
had  secured  him  in  John's  absence  Aat  he  would  not  like 
him,  and  she  wished  it  might  be  possible  to  keep  him  with 
them.  She  need  not  have  worried,  for  Hugh  Noland  had 
looked  about  the  place  and  decided  to  make  himself  so 
necessary  to  its  proprietor  that  his  presence  would  be 
desired,  and  he  had  gifts  which  favoured  him  in  that 
respect.  Besides,  John  had  been  unsuccessful  in  obtain- 
ing help  and  was  overjoyed  to  come  home  and  find  the 
cattle  fed  and  everything  at  the  barn  in  good  order. 
Patsie  and  her  mate  were  hitched  to  the  lumber  wagon 
and  stood  waiting  in  the  lane  when  John  came  and  Jack 
was  being  wrapped  in  his  warmest  cloak. 


38i 

"Where  on  earth  are  you  going?"  John  asked  in  pro- 
found astonishment. 

"I  told  Mr.  Noland  to  hitch  up  and  take  me  to  Uncle 
Nathan's,  but  now  that  you  are  here,  you  can  go  if  you 
wish,"  Elizabeth  replied  quietly.  "I  should  have  gone  a 
long  time  ago.  Will  you  go  along  mother,  or  will  you  stay 
at  home  after  climbing  these  drifts  all  day?  I  think  now 
that  you're  at  home  we'll  take  the  sled  instead  of  the 
wagon.  You  won't  mind  making  the  change,  will  you?" 

She  ended  by  addressing  the  new  man,  and  it  was  all  so 
naturally  done  that  John  Hunter  swallowed  whatever  was 
uncomfortable  in  it.  He  would  not  go  himself,  and 
Elizabeth  set  off  with  the  stranger,  glad  of  the  chance  to 
do  so. 

"I'll  drive  right  home  and  help  with  things  there. 
What  time  shall  I  come  back  for  you?"  Noland  asked 
as  he  set  her  on  the  ground  as  near  Nathan's  doorstep  as 
he  could  get  the  team  to  go. 

"Not  till  after  five.  Mother's  there  and  I'll  let  her  get 
your  suppers,  and  I'll  get  mine  here  with  Uncle  Nate. " 
c .  It  was  such  a  perfectly  normal  arrangement  that  Hugh 
Noland  did  not  guess  that  there  was  anything  new  in  it. 
He  drove  away  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment  because 
he  had  been  unable  to  draw  her  into  conversation  on  the 
way  over.  She  had  proven  herself  a  good  conversation- 
alist at  meals  and  he  looked  forward  to  a  time  when  he 
would  be  a  permanent  part  of  that  household.  Luther 
and  Silas  had  been  right.  Here  was  the  partner  he  was 
looking  for  if  he  could  only  make  himself  appreciated. 


382         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

He  had  laid  out  every  faculty  and  put  it  to  the  best  use 
for  that  purpose  and  had  been  a  bit  disconcerted  to  have 
her  suddenly  become  uncommunicative. 

Nathan  was  at  the  barn;  he  saw  them  stop  and  recog- 
nized his  visitor. 

"Humph!"  he  snorted  in  disgust.  However,  a  man 
could  not  leave  a  woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  standing 
on  his  doorstep  on  a  raw  February  day. 

"How  do  you  do,  Uncle  Nate?"  the  girl  said  timidly  as 
soon  as  he  was  near  enough  to  accost. 

Nathan's  greeting  was  short  and  inhospitable.  He  did 
not  offer  to  shake  hands,  nor  pretend  to  see  the  hand  she 
extended  to  him.  Instead,  he  opened  the  door  and 
invited  her  gruffly  to  enter.  Closing  the  door  behind 
them,  he  went  to  the  stove  and  began  to  stir  the  fire 
industriously. 

Elizabeth  saw  that  she  must  have  the  difficulty  over  at 
once  or  her  courage  would  wilt.  Setting  Jack  on  the  floor, 
she  went  to  Nathan  and  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  de- 
tainingly. 

"You  have  fire  enough,  Uncle  Nate.  Let  me  talk  to 
you." 

"Well?  "he  said  briefly. 

The  girl  was  staggered  by  the  nature  of  her  reception. 
It  was  worse  than  she  had  expected.  Luther  Hansen's 
estimate  of  the  real  situation  had  been  only  too  right. 
She  stood  before  Nathan  Hornby  trembling  and  discon- 
certed by  the  wall  of  his  silence.  The  old  kitchen  dock 
ticked  loudly,  she  could  hear  her  own  pulses,  and  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         383 

freshly  stirred  fire  roared  —  roared  in  a  rusty  and  unpol- 
ished stove.  Dust  lay  thick  on  the  unswept  floor. 
Nathan  needed  her.  She  would  win  her  way  back  to  his 
heart. 

"Uncle  Nate,  I  don  t  blame  you  one  bit  if  you  aren't 
nice  to  me.  I  haven't  deserved  it,  but " 

"I  guess  you  needn't  'Uncle  Nate'  me  any  more,"  he 
said  when  she  paused. 

His  speech  was  bitter  and  full  of  animosity,  but  it  was 
better  than  his  compelling  silence. 

"  I  don't  blame  you  one  bit  for  being  mad  at  me  —  I 
should  think  you  would  be.  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going 
to  say  to  you  either,  but  I've  come  to  beg  your  forgive- 
ness," she  stammered. 

Nathan  Hornby  did  not  speak,  but  waited  coldly  for  her 
to  continue.  There  was  plainly  no  help  offered  her. 

"I  —  I  can't  explain,  Uncle  Nate  —  I  am  going  to  call 
you  so  —  you  —  you  shall  not  put  me  away.  I  have 
come  for  your  forgiveness  and  —  and  I'm  going  to  stay 
till  I  get  it.  I  —  I  can't  explain  —  there  —  there  are 
things  in  life  that  we  can't  explain,  but  I'm  innocent  of 
this  stuck-up  business  you  think  I've  had.  I  —  I've 
loved  you  and  Aunt  Susan.  Oh,  Uncle  Nate,  I've  loved 
her  better  than  I  ever  did  my  own  mother,"  she  ended 
with  a  sob. 

There  was  the  voice  of  honesty  in  what  she  said,  but 
Nathan  remembered  his  wrongs. 

"If  that's  so,  why  didn't  you  come  t'  see  'er?"  he  said. 
"  If  you  loved  'er,  why'd  you  let  'er  go  down  to  'er  grave  a 


384         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

pinin'  for  you?  She  looked  for  you  till  she  was  crazy 
'most,  an'  she  never  got  a  decent  word  out  of  you,  nor  a 
decent  visit  neither.  If  you  loved  'er,  what'd  you  act 
that  way  for?" 

The  memory  of  that  last  day,  when  his  wife  had  yearned 
so  pitifully  for  this  girl,  arose  before  him  as  he  stood  there, 
and  shook  his  faith  in  the  honesty  of  Elizabeth's  purposes 
in  spite  of  the  earnestness  of  her  manner. 

"That  is  the  one  thing  I  cannot  explain,  Uncle  Nate," 
Elizabeth  answered.  "I  —  I  was  all  ready  to  come  that 
day  and  —  and  —  then  I  couldn't." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  at  the  memory  of  it 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"Is  it  true  that  Hunter  won't  take  you  anywhere?"  he 
asked  pointedly. 

"You  have  been  listening  to  the  Cranes, "  she  answered. 

"I've  been  listenin'  t'  more'n  them,"  he  said  with  the 
fixed  purpose  of  drawing  her  out  on  the  subject.  "I've 
been  listenin'  t'  some  as  says  you're  too  high  and  mighty 
t'  associate  with  th'  likes  of  us  —  an'  I've  heard  it  said 
that  your  husband  won't  take  you  nowhere.  Now  I  just 
naturally  know  that  a  man  can't  shut  a  woman  up  in  this 
American  country,  so's  she  can't  go  anywhere  she  wants 
t',  if  she  wants  t'  bad  enough;  an'  I  remember  how  Hunter 
was  'fore  'e  married  you;  'e  was  always  on  th'  go  —  an' 
there's  a  nigger  in  th'  woodpile  somewheres. " 

Elizabeth  was  for  the  moment  staggered.  What  he  said 
was  so  true.  And  yet,  how  untrue!  It  was  hard  to  think 
with  the  eye  of  suspicion  on  her.  Appearances  were 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         385 

against  her,  but  she  was  determined  not  to  discuss  the 
privacies  of  her  married  life.  She  paused  and  looked 
Nathan  squarely  in  the  face  till  she  could  control  her 
reasoning  faculties. 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there,"  she  said  quite  firmly 
at  last.  "I  shall  not  defend  myself  to  you,  Uncle  Nate, 
nor  explain  away  bad  reports.  It  would  not  help  me  and 
it  would  not  help  you.  What  I  am  here  for  is  to  offer  you 
my  love  now.  What  I  want  you  to  believe  is  that  I  mean 
it,  that  I've  wanted  to  come,  that  I'm  here  because  I  want 
to  be  here,  and  that  I  never  mean  to  neglect  you  again. 
I  —  I  couldn't  come  to  see  her  —  but,  oh,  Uncle  Nate, 
mayn't  I  come  to  see  you?  I  can't  tell  you  all  the  little 
ins  and  outs  of  why  I  haven't  come  before,  but  you  must 
believe  me. " 

Elizabeth  ended  imploringly. 

The  man  was  softened  by  her  evident  sincerity  in  spite 
of  himself,  and  yet  his  wound  was  of  long  standing,  his 
belief  in  her  honesty  shaken,  his  beloved  wife  in  her  grave, 
assisted  to  her  final  stroke  by  this  girl's  neglect,  and  he 
could  not  lay  his  bitterness  aside  easily.  He  did  not  speak. 

The  silence  which  followed  was  broken  only  by  the 
ticking  of  the  old-fashioned  Seth  Thomas  clock  and  the 
roar  of  the  fire. 

Elizabeth  looked  around  the  familiar  room  in  her 
dilemma,  entangled  in  the  mesh  of  her  loyalty  to  her  hus- 
band's dubious  and  misleading  actions.  Nearly  every 
article  in  that  room  was  associated  with  some  tender 
recollection  in  the  girl's  mind.  Not  even  the  perplexity 


386        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

of  the  moment  could  entirely  shut  out  the  reminiscent 
side  of  the  occasion.  The  bread-board,  dusty  and  unused, 
leaned  against  the  flour  barrel,  the  little  line  above  it 
where  the  dishtowels  should  hang  sagged  under  the  weight 
of  a  bridle  hung  there  to  warm  the  frosty  bit,  the  rocking 
chair,  mended  with  broom  wire  after  the  cyclone,  and  on 
its  back  Aunt  Susan's  chambray  sunbonnet  where  it  had 
fallen  from  its  nail:  all  familiar.  With  a  little  cry  Eliza- 
beth fell  on  her  knees  by  Nathan  Hornby's  side. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Nate!  you  can't  tell  what  others  have  to 
contend  with,  and  —  and  you  must  not  even  ask,  but 
She  could  not  proceed  for  sobs. 

Nathan  Hornby's  own  face  twitched  and  trembled  with 
emotion.  The  girl  had  unconsciously  used  Susan's  own 
last  words.  His  heart  was  touched.  Susan's  great  love 
for  Elizabeth  pleaded  for  her. 

"Can't  I  come,  Uncle  Nate?  Won't  you  be  friends 
with  me?" 

And  Nathan  Hornby,  who  wanted  her  friendship, 
answered  reluctantly: 

"Yes-s-s  —  come  along  if  you  want  t'.  You  won't 
find  it  a  very  cheerful  place  t'  come  to,  but  she'd  be  glad  t' 
know  you're  here,  I  guess. " 

Jack,  sitting  in  his  shawls  and  wraps  on  the  floor,  began 
to  cry.  He  had  been  neglected  long  enough.  His  mother 
got  suddenly  to  her  feet.  Both  stooped  to  take  the  baby. 
Elizabeth  resigned  him  to  Nathan,  instinctively  realizing 
that  Jack  was  a  good  advocate  in  her  favour  if  Nathan 
still  retained  fragments  of  his  grievances.  She  let  the  old 


"HE  CHUCKLED  TO  THE  BABY  AND  BEGAN  JO  TBOT  HIM 
UP  AND  DOWN  ON  HIS  KNEE*' 


man  retain  him  on  his  lap  while  she  busied  herself  about 
him  unpinning  his  shawls. 

It  was  home-like  and  companionable  to  have  a  woman 
and  baby  in  the  house,  and  Nathan  Hornby  had  been  lone- 
some a  long  time.  He  clucked  to  the  baby  and  began  to 
trot  him  up  and  down  on  his  knee.  With  a  relieved  sigh 
Elizabeth  dropped  into  a  chair  and  watched  them. 

Jack,  unaccustomed  to  whiskers,  put  his  hand  out  to 
investigate.  Nathan  waggled  his  chin  to  shake  its  pen- 
dant brush,  and  Jack  started  nervously.  Nathan  looked 
across  at  Elizabeth  and  laughed.  That  little  laugh  did  a 
world  of  good  in  aiding  Elizabeth's  plans.  It  was  not 
possible  for  Nathan  to  catch  her  eye  in  good-natured 
raillery  and  remain  cool  of  manner;  that  laugh  and  the 
glance  that  went  with  it  did  much  to  wash  away  his  hurt. 
In  his  secret  soul  Nathan  had  craved  Elizabeth's  love  and 
Elizabeth's  baby.  She  had  been  like  a  daughter  in  the 
house.  He  had  missed  her  almost  as  much  as  his  wife 
had  done,  but  he  had  resented  her  long  absence.  He  had 
come  to  the  house  determined  not  to  forget  his  wrongs, 
and  here  be  was,  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes,  smiling  at 
her  over  the  head  of  the  baby  in  friendly  amusement. 
He  was  puzzled  now  at  the  readiness  with  which  he  had 
given  in,  but  Nathan  found  his  love  stronger  than  his 
grievances. 

"Take  off  your  things,  Lizzie;  th'  house's  yours  if  you 
—  if  you  really  want  it  to  be. " 

Elizabeth  took  off  her  wraps  and  prepared  to  begin 
work  on  the  disorderly  kitchen.  Aunt  Susan's  limp 


3  88         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

apron  hung  on  the  nail  from  which  the  bonnet  had  fallen, 
and  she  put  it  on,  looking  about  her,  undecided  where  it 
was  best  to  commence. 

"I've  come  to  help  —  where  shall  I  begin?"  she  said. 

"If  I  could  tell  you  what  t'  do  I  could  'a'  done  it  my- 
self," Nathan  said  ruefully. 

Elizabeth  thought  of  the  orderly  wife  who  was  gone  and 
a  sob  arose  in  her  throat. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Nate!  You  don't  know  how  I  miss  her 
sometimes. " 

And  Nathan  Hornby  replied  sadly: 

"I  kind  a  think  maybe  I  do." 

The  night  was  cloudy  and  the  long  diagonal  drifts  made 
it  hard  to  drive  after  dark.  The  chores  had  kept  Noland 
later  than  he  had  thought  and  it  was  dusk  when  he 
arrived  at  Nathan's  for  Elizabeth. 

Hugh  Noland  had  been  spending  the  afternoon  with 
John  Hunter  about  the  barn,  measuring  him  and  talking 
of  farm  prospects.  Here  was  the  place  for  him  to  settle 
down,  if  he  could  arrange  for  a  partnership.  He  was  so 
much  convinced  of  this  that  he  was  endeavouring  to  make 
the  alliances  of  friendship  before  he  led  up  to  the  more 
serious  one.  It  had  baffled  him  to  have  Elizabeth  answer 
in  monosyllables  both  going  to  Mr.  Hornby's  and  again 
during  their  return;  he  wanted  to  talk.  Her  home  was  the 
first  farmhouse  he  had  ever  entered  that  he  felt  could  be 
home  to  him;  its  evidences  of  culture  and  refinement  had 
made  as  lasting  an  impression  upon  Hugh  Noland  as  that 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         389 

same  home  had  done  upon  Elizabeth  when  John  Hunter 
had  taken  her  to  see  his  mother  in  it.  It  was  an  oasis  in 
the  rural  desert.  He  meant  to  exert  every  effort  to 
establish  himself  in  it.  When  Elizabeth  did  not  respond 
to  his  attempts  at  conversation,  he  fell  back  upon  the 
analysis  of  herself  and  her  husband  which  had  been  going 
on  in  his  mind  all  day.  They  were  evidently  not  people 
who  felt  above  their  neighbours  on  account  of  their 
superior  education,  for  she  had  gone  to  spend  a  whole 
afternoon  with  that  plain  old  farmer  and  she  had  shown 
the  liveliest  interest,  even  friendship,  for  the  Swede  on  the 
other  side  of  the  farm.  He  liked  them  the  better  for  that. 
If  a  man  or  woman  lived  in  a  community  he  or  she 
should  be  a  part  of  that  community.  Hugh  Noland 
never  doubted  that  the  friendly  interest  he  had  witnessed 
was  the  regularly  established  course  of  action  and  that 
it  was  mutual  in  the  household.  Coming  into  the  house- 
hold at  this  transition  point,  he  was  to  make  many  such 
mistakes  in  his  estimates. 

John  Hunter  was  at  the  side  gate  to  assist  his  wife  and 
baby  out  of  the  sled.  He  left  Elizabeth  to  carry  Jack 
to  the  house  and  went  to  the  barn  to  help  Noland  put  the 
team  away.  This  man,  who  took  milking  as  a  lark,  and 
all  farm  work  as  a  thing  to  be  desired,  and  yet  was  a 
gentleman,  was  to  John  Hunter,  who  scorned  these  things 
as  beneath  himself,  an  anomaly.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  John  that  labour  of  that  sort  could  have  dignity,  nor 
that  a  man  could  choose  it  as  a  livelihood  unless  driven 
to  it.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  if  driven  to  it 


390        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

one  should  enter  into  it  as  a  real  participant.  To  him  it 
was  a  thing  to  endure  for  a  time  and  never  refer  to  after  it 
could  be  put  behind  him.  The  beauty  of  the  dawn,  the 
pleasant  odours  of  new-mown  hay,  the  freshness  of  the 
crisp  air,  the  association  with  the  living  creatures  about 
him,  the  joys  of  a  clean  life,  all  escaped  him.  Hugh 
Noland  had  enumerated  these  things,  and  many  more, 
while  they  had  worked  together  that  afternoon,  and  John 
Hunter  accepted  the  enumeration,  not  because  it  was 
fundamentally  true,  but  because  it  was  the  estimate  of  a 
cultured  and  well-educated  man. 

John  Hunter  had  been  vexed  at  Elizabeth  for  the  sang- 
froid with  which  she  had  walked  away  from  established 
custom  in  ordering  the  team  prepared  for  her  to  be  taken 
to  Nathan's,  but  with  Noland  present  he  had  accepted  it 
without  remark.  Here  was  a  man  before  whom  John 
would  always,  but  instinctively  rather  than  premedita- 
tively,  endeavour  to  show  his  best  side. 

Hugh  Noland  went  to  the  house  with  John,  talking 
farm  work  and  prices  of  produce  as  if  they  were  matters 
of  pleasant  as  well  as  necessary  importance,  and  he  set 
John  to  talking  in  his  best  vein  and  without  supercilious- 
ness; he  had  the  faculty  of  bringing  out  the  best  in  the 
people  he  met.  He  brought  some  of  his  books  —  he 
had  stopped  at  the  Chamberlain  homestead  for  his 
trunk  on  their  return  that  evening  —  and  added  them  to 
those  already  on  the  Hunter  shelves.  While  arranging 
them,  he  sat  on  the  floor  before  the  bookcase  and  glancing 
over  the  titles  of  those  belonging  to  the  family,  opened  an 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         391 

occasional  one  and  read  aloud  a  verse  or  a  paragraph  or 
two.  He  read  with  zest  and  enthusiasm.  He  was  fresh 
from  the  world  of  lectures  and  theatres,  and  the  social  life 
of  the  city,  and  became  a  rejuvenating  leaven  for  this 
entire  household. 

Luther  was  on  Elizabeth's  mind  when  she  awakened  the 
next  morning,  and  as  soon  as  the  breakfast  work  was 
finished  and  she  had  time  to  get  the  house  in  order,  she 
decided  to  move  from  her  new  standpoint  and  go  to  see 
him.  To  this  end  she  asked  Mrs.  Hunter  to  keep  Jack 
while  she  was  gone,  and  to  the  older  woman's  objections 
that  she  should  let  the  men  hitch  up  the  sled  and  drive 
her  over  she  answered  firmly: 

"I  don't  want  a  word  said  about  it.  I  will  go  whenever 
I  please  without  arguing  it  with  anybody." 

In  her  secret  soul  she  was  glad  to  get  past  the  barn  with- 
out John  seeing  her.  She  would  not  have  permitted  him 
to  stop  her,  or  delay  her  visit,  but  a  discussion  with  her 
husband  was  apt  to  hold  surprises  and  she  to  become 
confused  and  angry,  and  worsted  in  the  manner  of  her 
insistence.  To  get  away  without  having  to  explain  put 
her  in  good  spirits. 

The  sun  shone  brightly  and  the  air,  though  snappy  and 
cold,  was  brisk  and  fresh.  It  was  the  first  free  walk  of  a 
mile  Elizabeth  had  ever  taken  since  her  marriage.  Eliza- 
beth was  herself  again.  She  skirted  around  the  long 
drifts  as  she  crossed  the  field  humming  a  snatch  of  tune 
with  all  her  blood  atingle  with  the  delight  of  being  alone 


392         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

in  the  vast  silent  fields.  The  mere  passing  of  time  since 
Aunt  Susan's  death  had  gradually  worked  a  change  in 
her  condition,  which  Luther's  presence  and  the  stimula- 
ting quality  of  his  words,  John's  absence,  the  intoxication 
of  the  wild  and  unfettered  storm,  the  visit  to  Nathan 
Hornby's,  and  the  invigorating  personality  of  Hugh  No- 
land  had  combined  to  rejuvenate  in  the  crushed  and 
beaten  girl.  Life  held  meanings  to  which  she  had  long 
been  blind.  Elizabeth  set  about  the  reorganizing  of  her 
life  with  no  bitterness  toward  John,  only  glad  to  have 
found  herself,  with  duty  to  herself  as  well  as  others  still 
possible. 

Sadie  Hansen  met  Elizabeth  at  the  door  with  such 
evident  uneasiness  that  Elizabeth  was  moved  to  ask: 

''Luther's  all  right,  Sadie?" 

"Yes-s-s!"  Sadie  replied  slowly,  and  with  such  reluc- 
tance that  Elizabeth  was  puzzled. 

Sadie  took  her  to  the  bedroom  and  shut  the  door  behind 
her  as  tight  as  if  she  hoped  to  shut  out  some  evil  spirit  in 
the  action.  Her  manner  filled  Elizabeth  with  curiosity, 
but  she  crossed  to  Luther  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Before  you  'uns  begin,"  Sadie  said  with  the  air  of 
burning  her  bridges  behind  her,  and  before  any  one  had 
had  a  chance  to  speak,  "  I  want  t'  tell  you  something.  I 
could  'a'  told  it  in  th'  kitchen,"  she  stammered,  "but  I 
made  up  my  mind  last  night  that  I'd  have  it  out  with  both 
of  you.  I've  done  you  th'  meanest  trick,  Lizzie.  Luther 
said  you  was  goin'  t'  Hornby's  yesterday.  Did  you  go?" 

Elizabeth,  standing  at  the  head  of  Luther's  bed,  nodded 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         393 

in  her  surprise,  feeling  that  her  visit  with  Nathan  was  not 
a  subject  to  which  she  could  lend  words. 

"Now  look  here,  Lizzie,  if  what  I  said  t'  th'  Hornbys 
has  made  any  difference,  I'll  go  t'  him  an'  take  it  back 
right  before  your  face." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  opened  in  astonishment. 

"Uncle  Nate  did  not  mention  it  to  me,"  Elizabeth 
replied. 

"Well,  I've  made  up  my  mind  I  want  t'  tell  it,  an'  have 
it  off  my  mind. " 

Sadie  considered  a  moment  and  then  plunged  into  her 
tale  hurriedly,  for  fear  that  her  courage  would  cease  to 
support  her. 

"Well,  when  I  was  to  your  house  last  summer,  an'  you 
told  me  about  th'  effect  it  had  on  a  baby  t'  have  a  mother 
that  never  got  mad,  I  come  home  an'  tried  t'  do  everything 
I  thought  you  meant  an'  —  seems  t'  me  I  never  was  s' 
mean  in  my  life.  Mean  feelin'  I  mean.  I  got  along 
pretty  well  at  first  —  I  guess  it  was  somethin'  new  —  but 
th'  nearer  I  got  t'  th'  time,  th'  worse  I  got.  I  scolded 
Luther  Hansen  till  I  know  he  wished  he'd  never  been 
born.  Th'  worst  of  it  was  that  I'd  told  'im  how  —  what  a. 
difference  it  made,  and  he  was  that  anxious " 

Luther  raised  his  hand  to  protest,  but  Sadie  waved  him 
aside  and  continued: 

"Oh,  you  needn't  defend  me,  Luther!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I've  been  meaner  'n  you  know  of."     Turning  to  Eliza- 
beth again,  "I  used  t'  look  over  t'  your  house  an'  feel  - 
an'  feel  's  if  I  could  only  see  you  an'  talk  a  while,  I'd  git 


394         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

over  wantin'  t'  be  s'  mean,  but  you  wouldn't  never  come  t* 
see  us  —  an'  —  an'  I  didn't  feel  's  if  —  I  didn't  feel  free 
t'  go  any  more,  'cause  ma  said  you  didn't  want  t'  be 
sociable  with  our  kind  of  folks." 

Sadie  paused  a  moment  to  crease  the  hem  of  her  apron 
and  get  the  twitching  out  of  the  corners  of  her  distressed 
mouth. 

"Well,  at  last,  when  you  didn't  come,  an'  I  couldn't  git 
no  help  from  no  one,  I  just  said  every  mean  thing  I  could. 
I  told  Hornby  a  week  'fore  his  wife  died  that  you  said  you 
didn't  want  t'  change  visits  with  us  country  jakes,  'cause 
you  wanted  your  boy  t'  be  different  from  th'  likes  of  us. 
Ma'd  heard  that  somewhere,  but  I  told  it  t'  'im  's  if  you'd 
said  it  t'  me.  Sue  Hornby  put  'er  hand  on  my  arm  an' 
said,  so  kind  like,  'Sadie,  ain't  you  'fraid  t'  talk  that  way 
an'  you  in  that  fix?'  An'  I  just  cried  an'  cried,  an* 
couldn't  even  tell  'er  I'd  tried  t'  do  different. " 

Luther  Hansen  had  been  trying  to  interrupt  the  flow 
of  his  wife's  confession,  and  broke  in  at  this  point  by 
saying: 

"Sadie's  nervous  an'  upset  over " 

"No,  I  ain't,"  Sadie  replied  hastily.  "I've  been  as 
mean  as  mud,  an'  here  she's  took  care  of  you,  an'  I've  gone 
an'  got  Hornby  mad  at  'er.  He  believed  what  I  told,  if 
'is  wife  didn't.  They  say,  Lizzie,  that  'e  lives  there  all  by 

'iself  an' "  Sadie  choked,  and  waited  for  Elizabeth 

to  speak. 

"I  guess  you've  worried  about  nothing,"  Elizabeth  said 
brightly.  "I've  been  to  see  him,  and  we're  good  friends 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         395 

-  the  best  kind  in  fact,  and  no  one  could  ever  make  us 
anything  else  hereafter."  She  looked  down  at  Luther 
and  smiled. 

"Will  it  make  any  difference  with  my  baby?"  Sadie 
asked  anxiously,  her  mind  working  like  a  treadmill  in  its 
own  little  round. 

"No,  Sadie  —  that  is,  I  guess  not.  I've  been  thinking, 
as  I  listened  to  you,  that  the  way  you  tried  would  have  to 
count  —  it's  bigger  than  anything  else  you've  done." 

Sadie  Hansen  dropped  into  a  chair  sobbing  hysterically. 

Elizabeth's  hand  went  to  the  girl's  shoulder  com- 
fortingly. 

"God  does  not  ask  that  we  succeed,  Sadie;  he  asks  that 
we  try." 

Elizabeth  was  back  in  her  own  kitchen  in  time  to  get 
dinner.  John  had  seen  her  as  she  came  home,  but  made 
no  remark. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  there  was  a  consultation 
between  Hugh  Noland  and  John  regarding  a  possible 
partnership.  Not  only  did  Noland  like  John  Hunter,  but 
he  was  delighted  with  the  atmosphere  with  which  he  found 
him  surrounded. 

"This  is  a  home,"  had  been  Hugh's  secret  analysis  of 
the  household.  In  fact  the  home  was  the  main  feature  of 
the  Hunter  farm,  the  main  reason  for  wishing  to  stay. 

To  John  the  offer  of  partnership  was  a  blessing  from 
heaven  itself.  The  matter  of  interest  was  pressing  on  him 
far  more  than  he  had  acknowledged  to  Elizabeth.  It 


396  THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

galled  him  to  discuss  things  with  her  since  she  had  ceased 
to  ask  about  them  or  even  to  show  any  concern.  He  did 
not  realize  that  she  had  been  compelled  to  consider  the 
matter  hopeless. 

It  was  agreed  that  Hugh  should  lift  the  indebtedness 
and  have  one  half  interest  in  the  concern,  land  and  stock. 
There  would  be  about  five  hundred  dollars  left  over  after 
all  the  debts  were  paid,  and  John  gleefully  decided  to  buy 
some  more  calves  with  the  residue. 

"But  we  shall  need  every  cent  of  that  for  running  ex- 
penses this  summer,"  Noland  objected. 

"Oh,  well,  if  we  do,  we  can  always  get  money  on  sixty 
or  ninety  day  loans,"  John  replied  easily. 

"I'd  rather  not  go  into  debt,  with  my  health,"  the  new 
partner  said  decidedly 

He  happened  to  look  across  at  Elizabeth  and  caught  the 
alert  sign  of  approval  in  her  face.  He  had  heard  Silas  and 
some  others  discuss  the  Hunter  mortgages,  but  here  was  a 
still  more  significant  evidence.  Elizabeth  had  not  sig- 
nalled him,  but  the  look  told  the  story;  in  fact,  it  told 
more  than  the  girl  had  intended. 

"I  should  consider  it  a  necessary  condition  of  any  busi- 
ness I  went  into, "  he  added  steadily.  "  I  am  an  uncertain 
quantity,  as  I  have  told  you,  with  this  heart,  and  I  could 
not  be  worried  with  debts." 

Elizabeth  did  not  look  at  him  this  time,  but  he  saw  the 
look  of  satisfaction  and  heard  her  indrawn  breath.  And 
now  the  really  lovable  side  of  Hugh  Noland  began  to 
show  out.  Feeling  now  that  he  was  a  real  member  of  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         397 

family,  he  began  to  give  himself  to  its  pleasing  features. 
The  evening's  reading  became  a  thing  to  which  the  whole 
group  looked  forward.  The  flow  of  companionship  ex- 
ceeded anything  any  member  of  the  family  had  ever 
anticipated.  Jake  arrived  in  time  for  the  spring  work,  as 
he  had  agreed,  and  was  astonished  by  every  feature  of 
the  family  life  which  he  saw  about  him.  Elizabeth  was 
cheerful,  even  happy,  while  John  Hunter  was  another 
man.  Jake  figured  out  the  changes  about  him  wistfully, 
craving  a  part  in  the  good-fellowship.  Here  was  con- 
tentment such  as  Jake  had  never  witnessed.  Not  a 
trace  of  the  old  tragic  conditions  seemed  to  remain.  Jake 
had  missed  the  key  to  the  situation  by  his  absence  at  the 
time  of  the  blizzard,  but  he  was  keenly  aware  that 
some  change  had  been  wrought.  He  studied  Hugh 
Noland  and  was  even  more  enthusiastic  about  his  person- 
ality and  powers  than  the  family.  All  called  the  new  man 
by  his  given  name,  a  sure  sign  of  their  affection. 

Elizabeth  had  worked  a  radical  change  in  her  life. 
Jake  watched  her  come  and  go  without  remark  from  her 
husband,  give  her  orders  to  Hugh  to  hitch  up  for  her  if 
she  chose  to  drive,  or  if  she  walked,  going  without  per- 
mission, and  was  almost  as  pleased  as  she.  He  saw  that 
she  had  learned  to  keep  her  own  counsel  and  not  to  speak 
of  her  plans  till  the  time  for  action  had  arrived.  He  felt 
a  something  new  in  her. 

Elizabeth  had,  in  fact,  learned  that  while  openness  was 
a  point  of  character,  nevertheless,  if  she  dealt  openly  with 
her  husband  it  led  to  quarrelsome  discussions.  She  saw 


398         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

that  John  did  not  know  why  he  opposed  her,  that  it  was 
instinctive.  As  she  studied  him,  however,  she  found  how 
widely  separated  they  were  in  spirit.  The  calm  which 
Jake  saw,  was  all  there,  but  there  were  other  things  fully 
as  vital  which  had  not  been  there  before.  The  self- 
questioning  of  those  months  previous  to  Aunt  Susan's 
death  had  been  productive  of  results.  While  a  certain 
openness  of  attitude  had  disappeared,  there  was  the 
strength  which  has  all  the  difference  between  deceit  and 
reserve  in  Elizabeth  Hunter's  face. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   CHILD   OF    HER   BODY 

IN  THE  spring  Elizabeth's  affairs,  which  had  prom- 
ised to  straighten  out,  were  complicated  from  a 
new  quarter.  She  was  now  to  test  her  strength 
against  the  greatest  of  all  problems  for  women  and  to 
find  out  if  she  could  put  her  precepts  into  practice.  The 
probability  of  a  second  child  had  become  a  certainty; 
the  necessity  of  adjusting  her  good-will  to  accidental 
child-bearing  was  upon  her.  Often  and  often  her  words  to 
Sadie  —  "I  always  wanted  my  baby"  —  rose  up  to  accuse 
her.  Only  of  late  had  suspicion  become  a  certainty. 
Elizabeth  did  not  greet  that  certainty  with  joy.  Life  was 
hard;  she  had  more  work  to  do  already  than  she  was  able 
to  perform;  try  as  she  would  she  could  not  get  her  mental 
consent.  Why  must  she  have  this  undesired  child? 
When  the  thought  first  wormed  its  way  into  her  head, 
Elizabeth  passed  from  disappointment  to  self-accusation. 
By  every  law  of  God  and  man  a  mother  should  want  her 
child;  if  she  did  not,  then  she  stood  accused  at  Nature's 
bar. 

"For  its  sake  I've  got  to  want  it;  I'll  make  myself," 
she  decided.  But  she  did  not  want  it,  and  found  to  her 
growing  dismay  that  she  could  not  make  herself  satisfied 

399 


400         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

about  it.  Instead  of  becoming  reconciled,  the  question 
enlarged  and  grew  and  gained  in  point  and  force.  The 
girl  decided  that  she  would  be  glad  in  spite  of  every  oppos- 
ing thing,  but  her  resolution  was  formed  with  tears  in  her 
heart,  if  not  in  her  eyes,  and  the  weary  ache  in  her  back 
never  ceased.  "It  must  not  be  so.  My  child  must  be 
welcome!"  Elizabeth  told  herself  each  morning,  but  she 
was  too  tired;  it  was  not  welcome,  and  all  her  efforts  failed 
to  make  it  so. 

John  was  vexed  when  he  found  her  in  tears. 

"The  idea!"  he  exclaimed.  "Now  if  we  were  too  poor 

to  feed  and  clothe  it  there'd  be  some  excuse,  but " 

He  made  his  pause  as  expressive  as  he  could. 

"It  isn't  that.  I  —  I'm  so  tired  and  —  I  ought  to  be 
glad  —  and  —  and  I'm  not,"  she  began. 

"Well,  I  suppose  with  mother  gone  " — Mrs.  Hunter 
had  returned  to  her  old  home  on  a  visit  —  "you  have 
got  a  good  deal  to  look  after,  but  I've  got  to  get  to  the 
field  now.  You're  always  raking  something  up  that 
looks  wrong  to  you.  If  you'd  stick  to  your  work  and 
not  run  around  looking  for  trouble  you'd  be  able  to  want 
it,  maybe." 

The  force  of  her  husband's  suggestion  struck  the  girl. 
Perhaps  it  was  true  that  she  had  missed  the  very  highest 
for  herself  in  loving  ease  and  comfort  enough  to  seek 
them.  To  put  discontent  away  from  her  and  to  keep  her 
thoughts  occupied  she  began  the  spring  housecleaning. 
There  was  so  much  regular  cooking  and  milk  work  that 
only  one  room  could  be  attacked  at  a  time,  but  she  kept 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         401 

busy,  and  the  plan  worked  admirably  during  the  day. 
She  was  not  sleeping  well,  however,  and  found  that  nights 
have  a  power  all  their  own.  When  the  lights  went  out, 
thought  held  the  girl  in  its  relentless  grip.  It  was  of  no 
use  to  lengthen  her  working  hours  in  the  hope  that  sleep 
would  come  more  promptly,  for  the  more  exhausted 
Elizabeth  became  the  less  able  was  she  to  sleep,  and 
thought  stared  at  her  out  of  the  darkness  with  eyes  like 
living  coals. 

Wherever  Elizabeth  turned  this  monster  confronted 
her,  this  monster  whose  tail  was  a  question  mark,  whose 
body  obscured  everything  on  the  horizon  of  the  immediate 
future  except  its  own  repulsive  presence,  and  threw  her 
back  upon  the  suffering  present  and  the  much  to  be  de- 
plored past.  Was  it  right  to  permit  a  child  to  come 
when  joy  had  gone  out  of  relations  between  its  parents? 
This  question  grew  and  ripened  and  spread,  and  when- 
ever she  summoned  up  enough  will-power  to  weed  it 
out  for  an  hour  it  would  spring  up  anew,  refreshed  and 
more  tenacious  than  ever. 

"Whether  it's  right  or  not  for  John  and  me  to  have  a 
child  after  we've  quit  loving  each  other,  if  I  can  only  be 
glad  it's  coming,  or  even  be  willing  to  have  it,  I  won't 
mind,  now,"  she  told  herself.  But  she  was  not  glad, 
and  she  was  not  even  willing.  She  dragged  her- 
self about,  keeping  busy  day  after  day  as  her  hus- 
band had  advised;  it  was  her  only  refuge,  and  one 
which  could  not  avail  very  long,  for  already  she  was 
worn  out.  On  the  last  day  of  the  cleaning,  Hugh 


402         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Noland  came  to  the  door  of  her  room  and  speaking  from 
the  outside  said: 

"I  came  in  to  see  if  I  couldn't  help  you  a  little  in  get- 
ting ready  for  those  shellers,  Mrs.  Hunter."  Hugh  had 
noticed  her  weary  look  of  late,  and,  as  all  the  men  about 
the  house  did,  tried  to  help  whenever  there  was  time  to 
be  spared  from  the  fields  or  when  extra  work  was  re- 
quired of  her. 

"Shellers?" 

Elizabeth  backed  out  of  the  closet  she  was  cleaning, 
and  came  around  to  the  door. 

"Shellers?     Are  we  going  to  have  shellers?" 

"To-morrow,"  he  said  in  surprise. 

In  spite  of  her  exclamation  of  astonishment  Elizabeth 
noted  a  familiar  look  on  Hugh  Noland's  face  which  had 
something  in  it  that  always  caught  her  attention.  Al- 
ways when  an  unexpected  thing  came  upon  Hugh, 
Elizabeth  had  a  sense  of  having  had  past  relations  with 
him. 

"You  don't  tell  me  you  didn't  know?" 

"I  surely  didn't.  When  did  John  go  to  see  the  men 
about  it?  Why,  I  haven't  even  bread  baked!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"That's  funny!  Well  —  I  suppose  he  forgot  to  tell 
you.  The  men  passed  here  before  dinner  and  he  went  out 
to  the  road  and  engaged  them.  We've  got  a  little  corn 
left  over,  and  prices  seem  to  be  up  this  week. " 

"Well,  it's  only  one  of  many  things,"  she  said,  trying 
to  smile. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        403 

Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  disordered  bedroom  as 
she  considered.  Clothing,  boots,  shoes,  and  other  articles 
of  appareljay  scattered  over  the  bed.  Her  orderly  soul 
could  not  leave  them  without  finishing. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  do  —  I'll  straighten  up  here. 
You  go  over  to  Uncle  Nate's  and  get  me  some  yeast.  I'll 
have  to  bake.  I  made  him  some  yeast  the  last  time  I 
made  for  myself,  and  he'll  have  some  left.  It's  been  too 
damp  and  cloudy  to  make  any  of  late.  Then  I'll  see  what 
you  can  do,"  she  said  wearily.  "I  surely  will  need  help 
if  I've  got  to  have  a  dozen  extra  men  without  notice.  I 
I  suppose  John  forgot.  He's  usually  thoughtful  about 
the  cooking  for  strange  men." 

Something  in  the  hurt,  weary  look  of  her  went  to  Hugh 
Noland's  heart. 

"I'll  run  over  to  Hornby's  and  back  in  half  an  hour 
unless  he's  at  the  far  side  of  the  field.  Anyhow,  I'll  get 
back  the  very  first  minute  I  can.  I  have  to  start  to 
Mitchell  County  to-morrow,  early  in  the  morning,  so  I 
won't  have  any  time  to  do  anything  except  to-night.  I 
can  kill  the  chickens  for  you,  and  bring  things  up  out  of 
the  cellar.  What  on  earth  made  anybody  put  a  cave  as 
far  from  the  kitchen  door  as  that  for  is  more  than  I  can 
see,"  he  said,  taking  vengeance  on  the  first  unpleasant 
feature  of  her  circumstances  that  presented  itself. 

Hugh  did  not  at  all  understand  why  she  was  sick  and 
unequal  to  the  demands  made  upon  her  strength,  but  he 
did  see  that  she  was  so,  and  that  her  tired  young  face  wore 
a  discouraged  expression. 


404         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"I'll  take  Jack  with  me;  that'll  help  some,"  he  said  as 
an  afterthought. 

"If  you  would "  The  relief  in  her  voice  told  the 

strain  it  was  upon  her  to  work  and  watch  the  toddling 
child.  "I'll  tell  you  —  hurry  back  and  tack  this  carpet 
down  for  me.  I'll  have  the  room  and  closet  straightened 
up  so  that  you  can  do  it  by  then. " 

She  wiped  Jack's  dirty  face  with  the  end  of  a  towel  she 
thrust  into  the  water  pitcher  on  the  washstand  and  sent 
him  off  with  a  kiss  to  the  welcome  ride.  As  she  worked 
after  they  were  gone,  she  ran  over  in  her  mind  the  supplies 
on  hand  for  the  feeding  of  fifteen  men  on  such  short  notice. 
Threshing  and  corn-shelling  meant  hard  work  to  the  men 
who  followed  the  business,  but  it  meant  feasting  and  fes- 
tivity as  well,  and  it  was  with  the  prospect  of  much  cook- 
ing on  the  morrow  that  Elizabeth  furrowed  her  forehead, 
and  hurried  with  the  replacing  of  the  contents  of  the  closet. 
There  was  a  sponge  to  be  set  to-night  and  bread  to  bake 
to-morrow;  there  was  a  cake  to  be  baked,  beans  picked 
over  and  set  to  soak,  and  dried  fruit  to  stew;  also,  and 
what  was  more  annoying,  she  had  let  the  churning  run 
over  for  twenty-four  hours  in  order  to  finish  her  cleaning. 

"If  I  can't  get  around  to  that  churning,  I'll  just  let  it  go 
if  it  does  sour,"  she  decided  at  last. 

When  Hugh  came  back  she  set  him  to  work  at  the  car- 
pet and  went  to  the  kitchen  to  look  after  things  there. 
Nathan  had  offered  to  keep  Jack  when  he  heard  of  the 
unexpected  work  his  mother  was  going  to  have  thrust 
upon  her,  and  Hugh,  remembering  Elizabeth's  relieved  ex- 


THE  WINI>  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         405 

pression  when  he  had  offered  to  bring  the  child,  was  only 
too  glad  to  leave  him  in  such  good  hands. 

"How  long  is  that  child  going  to  stay  at  Hornby's?" 
John  demanded  the  next  morning.  He  set  the  heavy 
cream  jar  on  the  table  and  faced  Elizabeth,  who  was 
kneading  the  bread  on  the  big  bread-board  which  rested 
on  the  top  of  the  flour  barrel. 

"  I  don't  know  —  till  Uncle  Nate  gets  time  to  bring  him 
home  to-day,  I  suppose." 

Elizabeth  did  not  look  up. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  this  thing  to  happen  again.  A 
child  that  age  has  no  business  away  from  home.  What 
was  your  idea,  anyhow?" 

"Ask  Hugh.  I  didn't  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  I 
didn't  even  know  it  till  he  got  back.  He  knew  you 
had  engaged  the  shellers  without  giving  me  any  notice, 
and  he  knew  I  had  too  much  for  any  woman  to  do. 
Uncle  Nate  knew  it  too.  Go  on,  and  don't  bother  me 
this  morning;  I'm  so  tired  I  can't  talk  about  it,  any- 
how." 

John  Hunter  was  instantly  apologetic. 

"Oh,  well,  if  Hugh  did  it  I  suppose  he  meant  well.  He 
got  off  all  right.  I  look  for  some  results  with  that 
Mitchell  County  land  if  he  goes  into  it  right.  I'll  send  the 
cattle  down  as  soon  as  he  has  time  to  get  the  fences  in  line 
and  a  man  to  look  after  them.  I  brought  this  cream  up; 
it  won't  keep  any  longer." 

John  lifted  the  lid  of  the  cream  jar  and  sniffed  with  dis- 
approval. "I'll  just  put  it  into  the  churn  for  you." 


406         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Oh,  dear!  what  did  you  bring  it  up  for  to-day?  I 
can't  churn  with  all  I've  got  to  do.  Take  it  back. " 

"It  won't  keep!" 

"Well  —  I  can't  churn,  and  I  won't,  so  there!  IVe  got 
all  I  can  do  to-day.  I  should  not  have  let  it  go,  but  the 
cleaning  dragged  so;  besides,  I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to 
have  all  these  men  to-day  and  I  thought  I  could  get  it 
done.  Take  it  back.  I  can't  have  the  churn  around  in 
the  way  to-day.  I've  never  let  a  churning  go  to  waste  in 
my  life,  but  if  this  gets  too  sour  it  won't  cost  any  more 
than  to  have  hired  a  girl  to  help  with  the  work  this  week. 
Go  on,  and  take  it  to  the  cellar  and  let  me  alone. " 

Elizabeth  turned  her  back  to  show  him  that  the  argu- 
ment was  over,  and  did  not  see  that  he  went  out  without 
it,  leaving  it  on  the  back  of  the  one  small  kitchen  table 
she  had.  The  pies  she  had  just  finished  baking  were  ready 
to  be  taken  from  the  oven,  and  when  she  turned  to  put 
them  on  the  table  she  was  confronted  by  the  cream  jar. 
The  table  was  not  large  and  she  must  have  room  for  the 
food  to  be  cooked  that  day,  so  Elizabeth  lifted  the  heavy 
jar  from  the  table  and,  after  the  pies  were  out,  brought 
the  churn.  She  could  not  carry  it  to  the  cellar  again  and 
there  was  no  other  way. 

The  sour  cream  refused  to  yield,  and  the  girl  churned 
on  and  on  while  she  watched  the  dinner  cook.  The  dinner 
boiled  and  bubbled,  and  the  stove  was  working  as  actively 
in  the  kitchen  as  the  corn-sheller  was  doing  in  the  barn- 
yard, when  Nathan  set  Jack  in  the  doorway  and  followed 
him  in.  Nathan  sniffed  appreciatively. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         407 

"  Smells  pretty  good  in  here,"  he  said,  and  then  survey- 
ing the  room  in  surprise  added,  "What  on  earth  be  you 
churnin'  for?  Ain't  you  got  enough  t'  do,  child?" 

Elizabeth  stooped  to  gather  Jack  into  her  arms  and 
made  no  reply. 

"It's  as  hot  as  th'  devil  in  here,"  Nathan  said,  taking  his 
coat  off.  "Here  let  me  have  a  turn  at  that  churn.  You 
ought  tj  be  in  bed.  That's  where  Sue'd  put  you  if  she 
was  here." 

He  took  the  dasher  into  his  own  hand  and  began  a  brave 
onslaught  on  the  over-sour  cream.  The  butter  gave  signs 
of  coming,  but  would  not  gather.  He  churned,  and  the 
sweat  of  his  brow  had  to  be  wiped  frequently  to  keep  it 
from  where  he  would  literally  have  it  to  eat;  it  ran  down 
inside  his  prickly  blue  flannel  shirt,  it  stood  out  on 
his  hair,  hands  and  arms  like  dew  on  the  morning 
grass,  and  the  old  man  looked  out  to  the  wheezing 
corn-sheller  and  envied  the  men  working  in  the  cool 
breeze  where  life  and  courage  could  be  sustained  while 
one  laboured. 

"I  wouldn't  be  a  woman  for  fifty  dollars  a  day,"  he 
announced  with  grim  conviction.  "It  'd  make  a  devil  out 
of  anybody  t'  work  in  this  hell-hole.  No  wonder  you're 
s'  peeked,  child." 

John  came  back  to  the  house  almost  immediately  after 
leaving  it  to  go  to  work  in  the  afternoon. 

"You'll  have  to  bake  more  pies,  Elizabeth.  The  men 
have  been  put  back  by  a  breakdown.  They  won't  be  able 


4o8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

to  get  through  before  five  or  half-past,"  he  said,  coming 
into  the  kitchen  to  investigate  the  larder. 

"They  can't?"  Elizabeth  exclaimed,  longing  for  the 
rest  she  had  planned  to  get  after  the  dinner  work  was 
finished. 

"No.  It's  too  bad,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Now  you 
get  the  oven  going  and  I'll  come  in  and  help  you  about 
beating  the  eggs.  You'll  have  to  make  custard  pie,  I 
guess,  for  there  ain't  enough  fruit  to  make  any  more. 
Hurry,  and  I'll  be  in  in  a  few  minutes." 

"I'm  not  going  to  make  any  more  pies  to-day,"  Eliza- 
beth replied. 

"You'll  have  to.  Men  like  pies  better  than  anything 
you  could  put  on  the  table.  How  are  you  off  for  meat? 
Have  you  chicken  enough  left  or  shall  I  bring  up  a 
ham?" 

Elizabeth  faced  this  second  meal  with  a  dread  she  could 
not  have  expressed;  she  was  so  tired  that  she  could  scarcely 
stand;  her  back  ached,  and  there  was  a  strange  pain  pull- 
ling  at  her  vitals. 

"I'll  attend  to  the  supper.  Go  right  on  out  of  here. 
I  am  not  going  to  bake  any  more  pies.  You  crowded 
that  churning  on  me  this  morning  and  you'd  make  my 
work  double  what  it  ought  to  be  if  I  let  you  help.  Go  on ! " 

John  brushed  past  her  and  lifted  the  bread-box. 

The  fierce  heat  of  the  cook  stove,  the  pain  in  her  back, 
the  certain  knowledge  of  suggestions  to  come,  broke  down 
the  poise  the  girl  was  trying  to  maintain. 

"I  don't  want  any  remarks   about  that  bread-box! 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        409 

I've  got  sense  enough  to  get  supper.  Go  on  out  to  your 
own  work  and  let  me  attend  to  mine. " 

John  Hunter  stepped  back  in  astonishment.  He  had 
been  sympathetic,  and  had  really  wanted  to  be  helpful. 
He  was  insulted  and  struck  an  attitude  intended  to  con- 
vey the  fact,  but  his  wife  closed  the  oven  door  with  a  bang 
and  left  the  room  without  looking  at  him. 

John  punished  his  wife  that  night  by  letting  her  wash 
the  supper  dishes  alone. 

The  next  morning  John  continued  to  be  aloof  of  man- 
ner and  went  to  his  work  without  attempting  to  empty 
the  skimmed  milk  as  usual,  or  to  strain  the  new  milk 
which  stood  at  the  top  of  the  long  cellar  stairs.  Elizabeth 
skimmed  and  strained  and  put  the  shelves  in  order.  Her 
head  ached,  and  her  back  never  ceased  hurting.  When 
the  last  crock  had  been  carried  from  the  cave,  the  half- 
sick  girl  dragged  herself  to  the  bedroom  and  threw  herself 
down  on  the  unmade  bed. 

"I  don't  care  —  I  won't  do  another  stroke  till  I  feel 
better,  if  it's  never  done.  It  wasn't  nice  for  me  to  scold 
yesterday  when  he  really  wanted  to  help,  but  he  makes  so 
much  extra  work  that  I  can't  get  it  all  done.  It  don't  hurt 
him  any  more  to  be  scolded  than  it  does  me  to  be  kept  on 
my  feet  after  everything  in  my  body  is  pulling  out.  He 
won't  run  off  again  and  leave  me  to  carry  that  heavy  milk. 
I  don't  know  why  I  didn't  just  leave  it. " 

Elizabeth  did  not  realize  that  she  had  done  more  than 
waste  useful  strength  on  useless  tasks.  She  had  yet  to 
find  out  that  it  would  have  been  cheaper  to  have  left  the 


410 

entire  contents  of  the  cellar  to  sour  or  mould  than  to 
have  worked  on  after  she  could  do  no  more  in  comfort. 
It  took  Doctor  Morgan  to  point  out  to  her  that  farmers 
and  their  wives  place  undue  value  on  a  dollar's  worth  of 
milk,  and  that  they  support  those  of  his  profession  at  a 
far  greater  price  than  their  butter  would  cost  if  they  fed 
the  milk  to  the  pigs;  also  that  they  fill  the  asylums  with 
victims  and  give  younger  women  the  chance  to  spend 
what  they  have  worked  to  save  after  they  are  trans- 
planted to  other  regions.  They  had  been  obliged  to  send 
for  the  doctor  at  noon. 

The  name  of  peritonitis  did  not  impress  the  young  wife 
with  any  importance  when  the  old  doctor  warned  her  to 
lie  still  and  rest.  The  fierce  pain  was  eased  by  getting 
off  her  feet  and  she  was  so  glad  to  rest  that  she  took  his 
advice,  but  she  had  had  no  illness  and  little  experience 
with  chronic  ailments.  He  hoped  to  pull  her  through 
without  the  threatened  disaster,  but  warned  her  solemnly. 

"I'm  glad  we  have  you  where  you  can't  carry  anything 
more  out  of  that  confounded  hole  in  the  ground,"  he 
said  savagely.  "You'd  never  quit  till  you  were  down, 
anyhow.  Now  don't  you  lift  that  child,  no  matter 
whether  he  cries  or  not. " 

He  took  John  aside  and  talked  to  him  seriously  about 
his  wife,  and  demanded  that  there  be  a  hired  girl  procured. 
John  listened  as  seriously  and  went  to  the  kitchen  and  got 
the  supper  and  prepared  for  breakfast.  He  worked  dili- 
gently and  took  Elizabeth  a  dainty  bite  to  eat,  but  when 
the  question  of  a  girl  came  up,  he  had  his  own  say  about  that. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         411 

"I'll  do  the  work  in  this  house  till  you  can  get  around 
yourself,  but  I  never  intend  to  look  for  a  girl  in  this  coun- 
try again.  You'll  be  stronger  after  a  bit  and  then  you  can 
look  for  one. " 

He  put  Jack's  nightgown  over  his  little  head  and  but- 
toned it  in  the  back  while  he  talked. 

"This  '11  pass  over,  and  you'll  be  better  in  a  week's  time. 
I  don't  care  if  you  have  two  girls,  so  I  don't  have  to  hunt 
them.  Here,  Jack,  let  me  slip  that  shoe  off." 

"I  can't  seem  to  get  well,  though,  with  the  drag  of  the 
housework  on  my  mind, "  the  girl  said  drearily. 

Elizabeth  wanted  a  woman  in  the  kitchen.  She  lay 
without  speaking  for  a  moment,  thinking  that  as  usual  she 
was  unable  to  get  the  thing  that  her  own  judgment  de- 
manded. John  would  wash  his  dishes  clean  and  keep  the 
cooking  and  sweeping  done  as  well  as  she,  but  she  knew 
that  the  first  day  she  would  be  out  of  bed  she  would  be 
dragged  to  the  kitchen  to  consult  and  oversee  continually. 

"Doctor  Morgan  said  I  might  not  be  able  to  get  around 
much  all  summer,"  she  ventured,  exaggerating  the  words 
of  the  old  doctor  somewhat  in  her  determination  to  get 
help  at  all  costs  that  would  leave  her  free  to  get  well. 

"At  least  you  can  wait  and  see,"  John  replied  indif- 
ferently, already  concerned  with  his  own  problems. 
He  pushed  Jack  from  his  lap  and  sat  lost  in  thought. 

Elizabeth  made  it  a  rule  never  to  argue  unless  there  was 
hope  of  righting  things.  To  say  one  word  more  was  to 
lose  her  temper  and  that  she  tried  not  to  do.  The  girl  was 
really  very  ill;  her  head  ached,  and  her  body  was  sore  and 


412         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

tender.  She  had  not  had  a  whole  night's  sleep  for  weeks 
and  every  nerve  in  her  body  cried  out  for  rest;  she  wanted 
the  light  put  out,  she  wanted  to  get  quiet  and  to  forget  the 
house,  and  to  be  freed  from  the  confusion;  she  was  so 
nervous  that  she  started  at  every  noise.  The  night  was 
cool  and  Jack,  who  shivered  in  his  thin  gown,  crawled  into 
his  father's  lap.  John  wanted  to  think  at  that  moment, 
and  to  get  rid  of  him  put  him  firmly  down  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  moving  over  to  give  him  room  at  his  side  as  he  did 
so. 

"Oh,  don't  shake  the  bed!"  Elizabeth  exclaimed,  with 
such  concentrated  irritation  that  John  set  the  child  on  the 
floor  hastily. 

"I  only  thought  you  could  watch  him  a  minute.     I  can't 
keep  him  on  my  lap  all  the  time,"  John  replied. 

"Well,  put  him  in  the  bed  then,  or  tie  him  up  or  do 
something.  I  don't  want  to  watch  him,  and  his  climbing 
around  on  the  bed  sets  me  crazy!"  she  exclaimed,  pushing 
the  child  away  from  her  pillow. 

"We  don't  tie  children  up  in  the  Hunter  family,"  John 
replied,  as  usual  falling  upon  the  unimportant  phase  of  the 
discussion  and,  instead  of  putting  the  child  in  bed,  carried 
him  off  to  the  sitting  room,  where  he  fell  into  another 
brown  study  and  let  the  baby  slip  from  his  lap  again. 

Jack,  as  soon  as  released,  ran  back  to  the  bedroom  and 
threw  himself  up  against  the  side  of  the  bed,  stretching  his 
arms  up  to  be  taken. 

"Don't,  dear;  go  to  papa,"  Elizabeth  said,  trying  to 
reach  him. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        413 

Jack  sidled  away  toward  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  he 
regarded  his  mother  with  stolid  eyes,  and  beat  a  tattoo  on 
the  bed-rail  with  his  hard  little  head. 

"Jack!     Don't  do  that!"  she  commanded  sharply. 

It  was  torture  for  her  to  have  the  bed  jarred. 

Jack,  baby  fashion,  raised  his  head  and  gave  the  bed- 
rail  another  whack. 

Elizabeth  sat  up  suddenly  and  gave  the  child  such  a 
resounding  slap  that  he  sat  down,  shaking  the  whole  house 
with  the  impact,  his  screams  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
occasion.  John  carried  the  crying  child  out  of  the 
room,  shutting  the  door  with  such  a  bang  that  the  house 
and  bed  shook  anew,  and  the  girl  had  to  bite  her  lip  to 
keep  from  screaming. 

It  was  the  first  time  Elizabeth  had  ever  struck  her  child 
in  anger.  Usually  gentle  and  patient  with  his  baby  wil- 
fulness,  her  heart  recoiled  at  the  deed.  She  knew  that  the 
possibilities  of  that  action  had  been  growing  upon  her  of 
late.  Nothing  could  excuse  it  to  the  accusing  judge  of 
Elizabeth's  own  soul.  It  was  as  if  she  were  fenced  around 
with  a  thousand  devils;  turn  where  she  would  there  was  no 
help  and  but  little  hope.  She  had  come  to  understand 
herself  enough  to  know  that  with  sufficient  provocation 
she  would  almost  certainly  do  it  again.  The  girl  thought 
of  her  father.  The  deed  was  so  like  things  that  she  had 
seen  him  do  that  she  almost  tore  her  hair  as  she  prayed  to 
be  spared  such  a  soul-destroying  fate. 

It  was  Jack's  future  estimates  of  her  that  caused  her  so 
much  distress.  The  things  emphasized  by  the  mother  in 


4i4         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

a  home,  she  knew,  were  the  things  emphasized  in  the  lives 
of  her  children.  She  had  only  to  look  at  Jack's  father  to 
see  the  evidences  of  that  truth.  Mrs.  Hunter's  cleanli- 
ness and  order,  her  tendency  to  over-emphasize  details, 
were  her  son's  strongest  watchwords.  It  was  absolutely 
imperative  that  she  do  the  right  thing  by  Jack.  As  she 
pondered  she  decided  that  she  would  rise  up  and  make  one 
more  effort  for  the  child.  Then,  like  a  creeping  serpent, 
the  thought  of  her  attitude  toward  the  child  of  her  body 
suddenly  presented  its  forked  tongue  and  demanded  that 
its  future  be  reckoned  with.  From  what  principle  was 
she  dealing  with  it?  Elizabeth  knelt  before  the  shrine  of 
that  child,  not  in  joy  and  adoration,  but  with  a  fear  which 
had  almost  become  a  hatred. 

Elizabeth  did  not  realize  that  it  was  the  work  and  worry 
which  she  had  gone  through  in  these  last  weeks  which 
made  her  irritable.  She  did  not  recognize  the  difference 
between  nerves  and  temper,  but  she  had  come  to  under- 
stand that  the  unborn  child  was  draining  her  strength. 
The  prayer  in  her  heart  as  she  lay  there  thinking  it  out  was 
for  help  to  adjust  her  life  to  the  conditions  which  she  must 
meet,  for  strength  to  control  herself,  and  for  the  power  to 
so  order  her  mental  attitude  toward  this  new  child  that 
she  might  be  able  to  love  it  as  it  certainly  deserved  to  be 
loved.  But  even  as  she  prayed  a  horrible  thought  took 
possession  of  her: 

"If  only  it  would  die  and  be  prematurely  released,  as 
Doctor  Morgan  had  said  there  was  danger  of  it  doing!" 

It  was  then  that  Elizabeth  Hunter  realized  the  possibili- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN          415 

ties  in  herself.  That  was  murder!  If  John  complicated 
her  work  throughout  eternity  it  would  not  warrant  such 
an  attitude.  But  this  second  child!  It  was  the  absorb- 
ing topic  of  her  thoughts  as  she  vainly  tried  to  rest.  She 
was  so  worn  out  that  she  could  face  no  more  work  than 
she  already  had  to  do,  and  ever  as  she  thought  this  serpent 
of  temptation  thrust  its  head  out  at  her  and  said:  "If  the 
child  would  only  die!" 

Elizabeth  had  only  to  get  out  of  bed  and  go  to  work  to 
rid  herself  of  the  hateful  burden  in  the  present  state  of  her 
health,  but  under  no  circumstances  would  she  have  done 
it.  She  would  have  parted  with  her  right  hand  before  she 
would  have  helped  to  destroy  a  life  she  had  permitted  to 

spring  into  being,  and  yet The  thought  occurred, 

and  recurred,  in  spite  of  every  effort,  "If  only " 

And  she  knew  that  if  it  happened  without  her  assistance 
she  would  be  glad. 

Elizabeth's  distress  increased,  and  when  John  brought 
her  dinner  on  a  tray  covered  with  a  fresh  napkin  and 
beside  the  plate  a  violet  he  and  Jack  had  found  in  the 
pasture  she  brightened  with  pleasure  at  the  dainty  ar- 
rangement, but  did  not  touch  the  food. 

"Now  be  good  to  the  baby;  he's  been  asking  for  you  all 
morning,"  he  said,  kissing  Elizabeth  with  an  effort  at 
kindliness  and  understanding. 

Elizabeth's  head  was  aching  wildly,  and  she  was  so 
nervous  that  she  could  scarcely  endure  being  spoken  to  at 
all. 

"Then  don't  leave  him  here,  John,  for  I  can't  bear  to 


416         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

have  him  fussing  around,"  she  said,  trying  to  be  appreci- 
ative. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  don't  want  him  at  all,  I'll  take  him  out 
again, "  he  said  crossly,  setting  the  tray  on  a  chair  beside 
the  bed. 

He  was  able,  however,  to  see  that  the  girl  was  not  alto- 
gether herself,  and  shut  the  door  behind  him  carefully. 
The  door  shut  so  softly  that  the  latch  did  not  catch. 
When  Jack  finished  his  dinner  he  came  running  to  his 
mother's  room  at  once.  The  door  gave  way  under  his 
hand  and  he  stood  looking  into  the  room  curiously. 
After  a  glance  around,  he  advanced  confidently  toward 
the  bed  with  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eyesw 

Elizabeth  set  her  teeth  hard.  She  was  unable  to  reach 
out  and  lift  him  to  a  chair  where  he  would  not  jar  the  bed, 
so  it  was  her  intention  to  be  patient. 

Jack's  eyes  fell  upon  the  tray  as  he  passed  it,  and  he 
wheeled  around  and  took  stock  of  the  contents  of  this  new 
form  of  table.  Frantic  with  irritability  and  knowing  that 
she  would  be  at  fault  in  the  manner  of  correcting  the  child, 
his  mother  let  him  eat  out  of  the  plate  she  had  left  un- 
touched, rather  than  have  a  scene  with  him.  Presently, 
however,  Jack  laid  down  the  spoon  with  which  he  had 
been  eating  and  attacked  a  dish  of  berries  with  his  hands, 
letting  the  drops  from  the  ends  of  his  fingers  trickle  down 
the  front  of  his  clean  gingham  dress.  Elizabeth  happened 
to  look  up  and  saw  what  he  was  doing.  There  was  no 
telling  when  she  could  get  another  washing  done  and  her 
impulse  was  to  spring  at  him  and  snatch  him  from  harm's 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         417 

way,  but  she  was  trying  to  be  more  gentle  and,  drawing  in 
a  deep  breath,  she  spoke  as  quietly  as  she  could  command 
herself  to  do. 

"Don't  do  that,  Jack,"  she  said,  reaching  out  her  hand 
to  take  him  by  the  arm. 

Jack  clutched  the  dish  in  sudden  haste  and  raised  it  to 
his  mouth,  letting  a  stream  of  the  purple  juice  dribble  from 
it  to  his  own  bulging  front  before  his  mother  could  get 
her  hand  on  him.  Then,  fearing  a  repetition  of  the  blow 
of  the  night  before,  the  baby  threw  himself  on  the  floor, 
screaming  loudly. 

John  came  excitedly  from  the  kitchen. 

"What  have  you  done  to  him  now?"  he  asked,  and 
without  waiting  to  hear  her  reply  went  out,  flinging  the 
door  back  with  a  crash. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Doctor  Morgan  came,  but 
although  he  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  his  office  he  saw 
at  once  that  he  must  stay  with  the  suffering  girl. 

In  the  morning  he  called  John  out  to  the  buggy  and  had 
a  little  talk  with  him. 

"I  feel,  Hunter,  as  if  I'd  been  a  little  to  blame  for  this 
thing, "  he  said  as  he  picked  up  his  lines  to  start  for  home. 
"  I  thought  you'd  be  able  to  see  that  noise  and  worry  were 
bad  for  her.  I  ought  to  have  impressed  the  gravity  of  her 
condition  on  you  and  warned  you  that  she  must  not  be 
worried  by  that  baby.  You  can  see  every  muscle  in  her 
set  hard  when  the  bed  is  jarred.  That  child's  got  to  be 
kept  out  of  there.  Those  things  hurt  a  woman  in  that 
condition  like  a  knife." 


4i 8          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"She's  been  awfully  cross  and  cried  about  everything 
this  week,  but  she  hasn't  complained  much  — •  that  is,  of 
anything  but  a  little  backache,"  John  replied,  fingering 
the  whipstock  of  the  doctor's  buggy  and  not  able  to  con- 
nect the  present  serious  illness  with  any  real  reason. 

"Little  backache!"  Doctor  Morgan  exclaimed  with  ex- 
asperation. "I  never  seem  to  be  able  to  get  you  men  to 
understand  that  noise  hurts  a  woman  sometimes  worse 
than  if  you'd  hit  her  with  a  ball-bat.  Hurts,  mind!  It 
ain't  imagination;  it  hurts,  and  will  send  a  fever  up  in  no 
time.  Have  I  made  it  clear  to  you?"  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"I  guess  you  have,"  John  said,  relinquishing  the  whip- 
stock.  "She's  been  awfully  fretful,  but  I  never  thought 
of  her  being  sick  enough  for  this. " 

"Well,"  the  old  doctor  said  emphatically.  "You've 
lost  the  child,  and  you'll  lose  your  wife  if  you  don't  look 
out.  You  get  a  girl  in  that  kitchen,  and  see  to  it  that  she 
tends  things  without  Mrs.  Hunter  having  to  look  after 
her.  She  won't  do  another  day's  work  for  a  good  long 
time  —  and  mind,  I  say,  you'll  lose  her  yet  if  you  don't 
keep  that  child  off  her  till  she  has  a  chance  to  get  well." 

As  Doctor  Morgan  drove  away  he  said  meditatively: 

"Think  I  got  him  that  time.     Blamed  fool!" 


< 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HER  WAGES,  FOOD  AND  CLOTHING  SHE  MUST  ACCEPT 


LUTHER  HANSEN  was  at  the  door  when  John 
returned,    and    they   entered    the    sitting    room 
together.     Jack    was    leaning    against   the    bed- 
room door,  and  John,  who  remembered  Doctor  Morgan's 
parting  advice,  went  to  close  it.     The  baby  ran  to  his 
mother,  escaping  the  outstretched  hands  of  the  father, 
who  was  after  him,  but  the  child  had  miscalculated  the 
opposition  this  time  and  was  taken  firmly  into  John's 
arms  and  lifted  free  from  the  bed. 

"Tell  Luther  to  come  to  me,"  Elizabeth  whispered. 

"Doctor  Morgan  said "     John  began. 

"Tell  Luther  to  come  to  me,"  Elizabeth  repeated,  put- 
ting every  particle  of  strength  she  had  into  her  voice  so 
that  by  having  Luther  hear  her  John  would  be  obliged 
to  comply. 

Luther  came  without  having  to  be  told. 

"Luther,  could  you  get  Hepsie  back  for  me,  if  you  told 
her  Mother  Hunter  was  gone  and  would  not  come  back?" 
she  asked,  falling  back  into  a  whisper  from  sheer  weakness. 

Luther  bent  to  catch  her  words.  Elizabeth's  illness 
showed  plainly  in  her  pinched  face  this  morning;  he  would 
have  done  anything  she  asked  of  him. 

419 


420         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Of  course,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 

Luther  really  did  not  know  whether  Hepsie  could  be 
had,  but  he  meant  to  have  her  if  she  was  not  already  at 
work  somewhere  else.  He  listened  to  the  directions  and 
promised  without  equivocation  that  Hepsie  would  come. 
He  understood  that  for  some  reason  the  thing  Elizabeth 
asked  of  him  she  could  ask  of  him  alone,  but  was  careful 
to  couch  his  replies  so  that  that  fact  was  not  indicated 
even  to  her. 

When  it  was  arranged,  Elizabeth  closed  her  weary  eyes 
as  a  sign  that  she  wished  to  be  alone,  and  the  men  retired 
from  the  room,  leaving  her  in  the  first  real  peace  she  had 
known  since  her  illness  began.  With  Hepsie  in  the  house, 
she  could  look  forward  to  the  days  to  come  with  less  dis- 
may. She  resolved  that  if  she  did  get  the  girl  back  that 
she  would  keep  her  as  long  as  there  were  hired  men  to  cook 
for.  With  the  assurance  that  Hugh  would  keep  John 
from  falling  into  debt  again  there  would  be  funds  to  pay 
her  and  there  was  as  much  need  of  a  girl  in  the  kitchen  as 
of  men  in  the  field. 

Hepsie  came  gladly.  She  had  always  liked  Elizabeth, 
and  the  well-furnished  Hunter  house,  with  the  equally 
well-furnished  pantry,  was  desirable. 

Elizabeth's  life  was  in  grave  danger  and  when  John  at 
last  grasped  the  fact  he  looked  after  her  needs  rigorously. 
He  tiptoed  about  the  house,  looking  to  it  personally  that 
no  discomfort  assailed  the  wan  patient.  Jack  learned  the 
note  of  authority  in  his  father's  voice,  and  incidentally  the 
weight  of  his  hand  also,  and  quiet  prevailed.  John 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         421 

reflected  the  mood  of  the  sick  room  in  every  step  he  took. 
Much  of  the  time  Elizabeth  was  too  ill  to  observe  John's 
changed  attitude,  but  the  second  week  she  began  to  awake 
to  things  about  her.  She  went  over  the  situation  again 
and  again.  Something  had  to  be  done.  Things  had 
promised  to  straighten  out  since  Hugh's  coming,  but  the 
very  day  of  his  first  absence  the  old  coercion  was  renewed. 
John  would  not  have  brought  the  cream  jar  up  without 
asking  if  Hugh  had  been  there,  or  if  he  had  done  so  she 
could  have  mentioned  the  inconvenience  of  its  presence 
before  Hugh  and  got  it  carried  back  to  the  cellar.  The 
importance  of  Hugh's  presence  loomed  up  before  Eliza- 
beth as  she  lay  considering  her  situation;  Hugh  was  her 
only  hope  for  better  conditions.  She  had  accepted  Hugh 
as  a  happy  feature  of  the  family  life  and  of  the  business, 
but  she  had  not  thought  of  him  as  a  factor  in  her  personal 
affairs. 

There  was  another  feature  of  the  weariness  which  came 
from  being  pushed  beyond  the  amount  of  work  she  was 
momentarily  able  to  do:  she  became  irritable  with  Jack 
when  tired,  and  then  John  interfered.  Here  again,  her 
only  hope  lay  in  Hugh.  With  Hugh  present  John  was 
suave,  polite,  and  apt  to  treat  her  as  a  man  is  supposed  to 
treat  his  wife.  Considering  all  these  things,  Elizabeth 
began  to  look  forward  to  Hugh's  return  eagerly. 

As  if  to  favour  Elizabeth's  plans,  Hugh  Noland  found 
Mitchell  County  a  lonely  place  to  stay  and  as  soon  as  the 
fencing  was  finished  put  a  man  in  charge  and  returned 
with  all  possible  speed. 


422         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Oh,  John,  you  brother!"  he  exclaimed  when  he  met 
John  Hunter  at  the  kitchen  door  the  day  he  arrived.  He 
held  out  both  his  hands.  "I  haven't  had  such  a  sense  of 
coming  home  since  my  mother's  death. " 

They  greeted,  and  looked  at  each  other  long  and  ear- 
nestly, and  John  Hunter  allowed  himself  to  enter  into 
closer  relations  of  friendship  and  love  than  he  had  ever 
done  in  the  twenty-seven  years  of  his  life. 

"I'm  glad  you're  here,"  John  said  when  he  had  re- 
covered from  his  surprise  over  this  unusual  demonstration 
of  affection.  "We're  going  to  lift  Elizabeth  out  into  a 
chair  for  the  first  time  to-day.  She'll  be  glad  you've  come 
too." 

"How  is  she?  You  didn't  say  much  about  her  in  your 
last  letter. " 

"Wasn't  much  to  say, "  John  replied.  " She's  better  — 
that's  the  main  thing.  Come  on  into  the  sitting-  room  till 
I  can  get  her  ready  and  get  a  quilt  in  the  rocking  chair. " 

"Got  a  girl,  I  see!"  Hugh  remarked  in  a  whisper  as  they 
closed  the  door  behind  them. 

"Yes,  and  a  good  one  fortunately.  Too  much  milk  and 
butter.  I  found  that  out  when  I  got  at  it.  No  more 
buttermaking  in  mine.  I  had  the  whole  thing  on  my 
hands  for  over  a  week.  I  turned  half  those  cows  out  to 
grass,"  John  said,  bringing  forward  the  chair  for  the 
invalid. 

"  I  was  afraid  the  morning  I  left  that  she  had  too  much 
to  do  with  all  those  shelters  on  such  short  notice." 

Hugh  stooped  to  pick  up  the  baby. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         423 

"How  are  you,  partner?"  he  cried,  swinging  the  de- 
lighted child  up  to  the  ceiling.  Jack  was  wild  with  joy. 
Hugh  stood  with  legs  wide  apart  and  cuddled  the  baby  to 
him  for  a  squeeze.  This  was  part  of  the  homecoming  too. 
He  was  still  hugging  Jack  tenderly  when  John  beckoned 
from  the  bedroom  door. 

Hugh  drew  the  rocking  chair  into  the  bedroom  and 
then  stopped  to  stare  at  the  wasted  figure  wrapped  in  a 
quilt  who  had  to  be  supported  while  he  adjusted  it. 

"John!     You  didn't  tell  me  she  was  like  this!" 

He  took  the  thin  hands  in  his,  both  of  them,  just  as  he 
had  done  John's  a  moment  before,  and  was  moved  almost 
to  tears  by  the  pallid  face.  Elizabeth's  brown  eyes  had 
fallen  back  into  her  bony,  sharp-lined  head,  and  her  nose 
was  thin  and  drawn. 

"Words  fail  me,  Mrs.  Hunter,"  he  said  feelingly. 

But  though  words  failed  to  express  Hugh  Noland's 
sympathy  his  eyes  did  not,  and  the  girl,  who  had  not  had 
an  hour's  sympathetic  companionship  since  he  had  been 
gone,  caught  the  fact  and  was  cheered  by  it. 

Hugh  Noland  was  vital  and  invigorating.  Elizabeth 
listened  to  his  account  of  the  adventures  in  Mitchell 
County.  He  was  a  good  story-teller  and  his  incidents 
were  well  selected.  She  was  too  weak  to  sit  up  a  whole 
hour  and  was  carried  tenderly  back  to  her  bed,  where  the 
family  life  centred  now  that  she  was  becoming  able  to 
stand  the  noise  and  confusion  of  it. 

During  the  days  which  followed,  Hugh,  at  John's  sug- 
gestion, brought  his  books  and  read  aloud  to  them  in  that 


424         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

little  bedroom  in  the  warm  spring  evenings,  and  life  in  the 
Hunter  house  took  on  a  brighter  complexion  than  it  had 
ever  before  assumed. 

John,  who  had  been  sleeping  in  Hugh's  room  since 
Elizabeth's  serious  illness,  returned  to  his  own  bed.  He 
looked  about  him  for  Jack  the  first  night  and  asked  where 
he  was. 

"I  sent  him  up  to  Hepsie's  room,"  Elizabeth  said 
quietly. 

"To  sleep!" 

"Yes." 

"The  children  in  the  Hunter  family  are  not  put  into 
the  servants'  beds,"  John  Hunter  replied.  The  unex- 
plained statement  was  offensive  to  a  man  accustomed  to 
being  consulted. 

To  punish  her  John  went  to  sleep  without  giving  her  the 
usual  good-night  kiss. 

"He'd  have  been  cross,  anyhow,"  was  all  the  thought 
she  gave  that  part  of  the  circumstance.  Could  John 
Hunter  have  known  that  the  absence  of  that  kiss  was  a 
relief,  and  that  he  made  of  his  presence  sometimes  an 
intolerable  nightmare,  he  might  have  saved  for  himself  a 
corner  in  her  tired  heart  against  the  days  to  come.  John's 
zeal  and  passion  had  gone  into  the  pursuit  of  their  court- 
ship days.  Now  they  were  married,  possession  was  a  fact: 
Elizabeth  was  his  wife. 

Elizabeth  understood  that  John  was  whimsical  and 
tyrannical,  but  not  intentionally  evil,  but  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  had  John's  character  summed  up  and  under- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         425 

stood  that  much  that  he  did  was  not  deliberately  intended 
to  do  her  injury,  that  little  of  it  was  in  fact,  she  felt  a 
growing  disinclination  for  his  presence.  The  unloved, 
undesired  child  which  she  had  lost  was  a  warning  guide- 
post  pointing  its  finger  away  from  a  continuance  of 
marital  relations.  No  conditions  could  make  it  right  for 
her  to  have  another  child  till  love  again  existed  between 
them.  She  saw  that  nothing  could  excuse  or  make  decent 
the  child  of  wornout  conditions;  nothing  but  affection 
made  marriage  worthy,  and  when  that  affection  had 
departed  from  a  man  and  woman,  to  thrust  life  upon  a 
child  was  a  crime  against  that  child,  a  crime  against  nature 
and  a  crime  against  themselves  and  society;  yet,  what 
could  she  do?  Her  health  was  broken,  and  she  without 
means  of  support.  After  Aunt  Susan's  death  the  girl  had 
seriously  considered  separation;  she  still  considered  it,  but 
not  seriously.  Though  she  cried  "Fool!  fool!"  many 
times,  she  had  given  her  youth,  her  health,  her  strength 
to  John  Hunter,  and  her  wages  —  food  and  clothing  — 
she  must  accept. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    CREAM-JARS    OF    HER    LIFE 

WHILE  Elizabeth  progressed  toward  health  the 
work  on  the  Hunter  farm  progressed  also.  Be- 
cause of  taking  the  cattle  to  Mitchell  County  it 
was  possible  to  get  in  a  greater  acreage  of  small  grain  and 
corn.  Patsie  had  a  small  colt  at  her  side,  as  did  her  mate 
also,  and  there  was  an  extra  man  needed  in  the  field  most 
of  the  time,  but  after  repeated  consultations  it  was 
decided  that  by  using  care  the  teams  they  had  would  be 
able  to  plow  the  corn,  and  that  they  could  hire  help  for  the 
harvesting  cheaper  than  they  could  buy  another  pair  of 
horses. 

However,  in  spite  of  the  discussions  which  were  sup- 
posed to  have  settled  the  matter,  John  came  home  from 
Colebyville  one  Saturday  with  a  new  team. 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?"  he  asked  Hugh, 
who  opened  the  gate  to  let  him  into  the  barnyard. 
"I  just  made  up  my  mind  that  it  wasn't  economy 
to  push  the  horses  we  had  so  hard.  I  got  them  at  a 
bargain." 

"You've  bought  them,  you  say?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"I'd  take  them  back,"  Hugh  said  slowly  but  decidedly. 

426 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         427 

"Horses  and  dogs  talk  with  their  tails,  and  I  don't  like  the 
way  this  one  acts." 

"  I  can't  take  them  back.  I  got  them  from  a  mover.  I 
got  them  for  a  song,  and  we're  going  to  need  them  for  the 
binder.  I  know  what  we  said,"  he  went  on,  interrupting 
Hugh,  who  was  trying  to  speak,  "but  there  was  a  bargain 
in  them  and  we  do  need  them." 

"But  we  haven't  the  money!  How  did  you  buy  them? 
You  couldn't  pay  for  them  outright. " 

Hugh  Noland  had  been  feeling  his  way  down  the  foreleg 
of  the  horse  nearest  him.  The  animal  was  nervous  and 
had  crowded  over  against  its  mate  in  an  endeavour  to  get 
away.  Both  its  ears  were  laid  back,  and  there  was  a  half- 
threatening  air  about  its  movements.  As  Hugh  straight- 
ened up  to  continue  the  discussion  of  finances,  it  jumped 
aside,  quivering  with  fright. 

"I  gave  a  check  on  the  bank,"  John  replied  uneasily. 
Hugh  had  never  criticised  him  before. 

Hugh  was  taken  up  with  soothing  the  nervous  animal 
for  a  moment. 

"You'll  run  out  of  money  before  the  summer's  over," 
he  said  warningly. 

"Oh,  I've  had  to  borrow  a  little  already.  With 
Elizabeth's  illness  and  all,  I  saw  we  weren't  going  to  get 
through,  so  I  just  took  out  a  loan  of  five  hundred  and  paid 
Doc  Morgan  while  I  was  at  it.  I  meant  to  have  told  you. 
I've  got  some  calves  coming  from  over  west  to-morrow 
too."  John  poured  it  all  out  while  he  was  at  it,  with  a 
relief  in  having  it  over. 


428         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

There  was  a  pause.  When  Hugh  Noland  again  spoke 
it  was  with  a  distinct  note  of  firmness  and  almost  of 
authority. 

"The  plain  understanding  in  our  partnership  —  the  one 
I  laid  the  most  stress  upon  to  start  with  —  was  that  there 
should  be  no  debts.  I'm  willing  that  you  should  be  free 
to  select  a  team;  it  isn't  that.  Did  you  borrow  this  money 
in  the  firm's  name?" 

"Yes-s-s.  I  didn't  think  you'd  care  about  a  little  sum 
like  that, "  John  said  slowly.  He  was  very  uncomfortable. 
"I  turned  my  personal  note  in  on  the  account  book  for  the 
doctor's  bill.  You  can  see  it  on  the  book. " 

"I  don't  doubt  at  all  but  that  you  did,  John.  You're 
not  called  into  question,  old  boy,  on  any  other  matter  than 
the  one  of  debts,  but  you'll  never  put  this  firm  five  cents  in 
debt  without  coming  to  an  instant  understanding.  I  came 
to  this  country  to  get  well.  I  won't  get  well,  but  I  won't 
allow  myself  to  get  into  anything  that  will  run  me  down 
quicker  with  worry.  You  knew  it  before  you  went  in  with 
me  —  and  you  agreed. " 

That  was  the  final  word  John  Hunter  felt  as  he  tied  the 
skittish  brute  he  had  just  purchased  in  the  stall  beside  the 
door,  and  turned  to  put  the  hay  down  from  the  loft  above. 
The  sound  of  plunging  feet  and  snorts  of  wild  terror  when 
the  hay  fell  into  the  manger  turned  his  mind  to  the  proba- 
ble truth  of  Hugh's  opinion  of  the  lately  purchased  horses. 

"I  wonder  if  the  blamed  brutes  are  going  to  be  too 
maggoty  for  our  use  after  all, "  he  thought.  "  It'd  be  just 
my  luck.  He  was  fair  about  it  though,"  John  admitted 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         429 

reluctantly.  "Oh,  well,  after  all,  he's  worth  having 
around,  and  I'm  going  to  do  a  deal  better  than  I  would  if 
he  hadn't  come  along.  Elizabeth  was  right  —  I  did  get 
in  too  deep. "  And  with  this  astonishing  admission,  John 
Hunter  finished  haying  the  horses  and  walked  slowly  to 
the  house,  thinking  about  the  new  horses,  and  half  pre- 
pared to  admit  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  buying 
them  outright  from  a  man  who  was  able  to  get  away  before 
they  could  be  proven,  but  Elizabeth  and  Hugh  were 
already  sitting  by  the  table  in  the  living  room  and  he 
knew  he  was  wanted.  He  went  to  the  bedroom  to  wash 
his  hands  —  John  could  not  form  the  habit  of  washing  in 
the  kitchen  as  other  farmers  did  —  and  as  he  washed, 
meditated,  and  as  he  meditated  he  found  himself  ready 
to  accept  this  reproof  from  Hugh  Noland,  ready  to  live  up 
to  agreements  if  Hugh  imposed  them,  ready  to  listen  to 
Hugh  and  love  him.  Something  in  Hugh  Noland  was  so 
fundamentally  square  that  the  principle  of  squareness 
took  on  a  new  meaning  to  John  Hunter. 

"Here  you  are!  You're  the  one  that's  insisted  on  these 
readings  most,  and  you're  always  late,"  Hugh  cried  as 
John  came  from  the  bedroom,  fresh  and  well  groomed  as  if 
he  had  not  done  barn  chores  a  few  minutes  before. 

The  reading  was  part  of  John  Hunter's  play  world. 
John  was  not  a  man  of  scholarly  tastes,  but  reading,  like 
the  use  of  the  hairbrush  he  had  just  laid  down,  was  good 
form:  they  were  both  part  of  the  world  to  which  John 
wished  to  belong.  A  book  might  or  might  not  relate  to 
that  world,  but  it  was  a  book  and  seemed  to  do  so,  and 


430         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

while  John  Hunter  might  or  might  not  get  much  intel- 
lectual advancement  out  of  a  book,  he  got  advancement 
out  of  sitting  in  Hugh  Noland's  presence  and  opening  his 
heart  to  the  love  and  respect  Hugh  commanded  from  him. 
John  did  not  close  himself  off  from  Hugh's  influence  as  he 
did  from  Elizabeth's,  and  the  things  he  refused  to  take 
from  her  he  adopted  and  readily  set  into  action  at  Hugh's 
suggestion. 

It  was  destined  to  be  the  last  night  in  which  John  was  to 
be  permitted  the  comfort  of  this  new  feature  of  home  life, 
however.  As  they  were  gathered  about  the  breakfast 
table  a  man  rode  into  the  lane  and  called  John  Hunter  to 
the  door  without  getting  off  his  horse. 

"Doc  Morgan  was  goin'  past  my  house  this  mornin'  an' 
asked  me  if  I'd  bring  this  over  t'  you.  'E  said  it  came 
after  you  left  town,  an'  th'  agent  didn't  know  how  t'  git 
over  t'  you  'thout  he  was  comin'  this  way  this  mornin'. 
Hope  it  ain't  no  bad  news. " 

He  waited  to  see  John  tear  open  the  envelope  and  read 
the  telegram. 

"My  mother's  sick,"  was  John's  hurried  statement  as 
he  turned  toward  the  house. 

Hugh  drove  John  Hunter  to  the  station.  The  sun  was 
hot  and  he  had  read  till  nearly  midnight  the  night  before, 
and,  busy  season  though  it  was,  he  thought  it  best  not  to 
start  home  till  toward  night.  Doctor  Morgan  had  re- 
turned home  and  Hugh,  as  was  his  custom,  went  to  the 
office  for  a  chat.  It  was  one  of  the  chief  delights  of  both 
to  have  an  hour  together. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         431 

"Do  tney  get  along  well  together  —  Hunter  and  his 
wife?"  Doctor  Morgan  asked  after  he  had  taken  Hugh's 
health  into  account. 

"You'd  think  so  if  you'd  heard  the  directions  I  received 
for  her  care  just  now,"  Hugh  answered  with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  I  don't  care  —  I  couldn't  make  him  understand 
about  her  when  she  was  sick.  He  let  that  squalling  brat 
crawl  over  her,  and  let  her  do  baking  and  things  she  wasn't 
fit  to  do  till  she  was  worn  out, "  the  old  doctor  said  resent- 
fully. Then  added  as  an  afterthought,  "Say!  You're 
not  letting  him  run  you  into  debt,  are  you?" 

"No  debts  in  mine.  There's  one  note  and  it'll  be 
cleared  up  as  soon  as  the  small  grain  can  be  disposed  of. 
I  put  the  clamps  on  that  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  it.  It  won't 
happen  again.  I  think  his  wife  was  about  as  glad  of  the 
end  of  the  credit  business  as  any  of  us, "  Hugh  said,  and 
then  added  with  a  laugh:  "I  think  you're  mistaken  about 
his  treatment  of  her,  though.  You  should  have  heard  the 
directions  he  gave  me  about  her  as  the  train  was  about  to 
pull  out;  you'd  have  thought  she  was  his  favourite  child 
and  that  I  was  going  to  neglect  her." 

Doctor  Morgan  snorted  contemptuously. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  him.  Hunter  loves  to  give  directions 
to  anything  from  a  puppy  dog  to  a  preacher.  That's 
what's  the  matter  with  her.  He  directs  her  all  the  time 
as  if  she  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  cook  hot  water  or 
wash  the  baby.  He  ain't  any  worse  than  a  lot  of  men  I 
know  of,  but  you  expect  more  of  a  man  that's  half-edu- 
cated. I  tell  you,  Noland,  the  trouble  's  in  this  business  of 


432         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

men  owning  women.  I've  practised  in  these  parts  ever 
since  this  country's  been  opened,  and  I  see  a  good  deal  of 
husbands  —  and  they're  a  bad  lot." 

Hugh  Noland  watched  the  old  doctor  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

"You  aren't  going  to  give  us  men  all  a  knock,  are  you  ?" 
he  said  amusedly. 

"I'm  not  saying  anybody's  bad,"  Doctor  Morgan  said, 
following  out  his  own  reasonings.  "The  trouble  's  in  men 
owning  everything.  Theoretically,  a  woman  shares  in  the 
property,  and  of  course  she  does  if  she  gets  a  divorce,  but 
as  long  as  she  lives  with  him  he's  the  one  that  has  the 
money  and  she  has  to  ask  for  it  if  she  has  ever  so  little. 
You  take  Mrs.  Hunter:  she  don't  spend  a  cent  he  don't 
oversee  and  comment  on;  she's  dependent  on  that  man 
for  every  bite  she  eats  and  for  every  stitch  she  wears 
and  he  interferes  with  every  blessed  thing  she  does.  Give 
that  woman  some  money  of  her  own,  Noland,  and 
where'd  she  be?  John  Hun  tier  'd  treat  her  as  an  equal 
in  a  minute;  he'd  know  she  could  quit,  and  he'd  come 
to  terms." 

Doctor  Morgan  swung  the  stethoscope  with  which  he 
had  been  listening  to  Hugh's  heart,  and  proceeded  without 
waiting  for  Hugh  to  speak. 

"Oh,  we  doctors  see  a  side  of  women's  lives  you  other 
men  don't  know  anything  about.  We  see  them  suffer, 
and  we  know  that  the  medicine  we  give  them  is  all  knocked 
out  by  the  doings  of  the  men  they  live  with,  and  we  can't 
raise  our  hands  to  stop  the  thing  at  the  bottom  of  it  all. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         433 

Why,  that  woman's  just  lost  a  child  I  know  she  was  glad 
to  lose,  and  —  oh,  don't  misunderstand  me!  She  never 
told  me  she  was  glad  she  lost  it,  but  how  in  God's  name 
could  she  be  otherwise?  She  couldn't  do  all  he  required 
of  her  without  it.  She  had  butter  to  make,  and  shelters  to 
cook  for,  and  then  the  damned  fool  'd  shove  that  heavy 
baby  on  her  —  and  he  actually  talked  to  me  about  her 
being  cross!" 

Hugh  Noland  was  beginning  to  feel  that  living  in  a 
man's  house  did  not  constitute  a  knowledge  of  him,  and 
yet  there  were  the  things  he  himself  had  seen  and  heard. 

"But,  he's  looking  after  her  now  as  if  she  were  a  baby 
herself,"  he  protested.  "He  urged  me  to  look  after  her, 
and  see  that  she  didn't  have  to  lift  Jack  yet  for  a  while, 
and  to  humour  the  hired  girl  for  fear  they'd  lose  her,  and 
he  even  insisted  that  I  keep  up  the  reading  aloud  that 
I've  been  doing  for  them. " 

"I  don't  doubt  that,"  the  old  doctor  said,  a  bit  nettled. 
"He's  not  all  bad.  He's  a  right  good  fellow  —  that's  the 
very  point  I'm  trying  to  make.  It's  because  he  owns  her 
and  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  run  her  affairs  —  that's  the 
trouble  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  thing.  Now  that  she's 
sick  he'll  see  that  she  don't  have  to  lift  the  baby.  If  she 
owned  herself  she  could  stop  lifting  the  baby  before  she 
got  sick;  a  man  can't  tell  when  a  woman  feels  like  working 
and  when  she  don't.  What  I  want  to  say  is,  that  a  man 
browbeats  a  woman  because  she  hasn't  any  money  and 
can't  help  herself.  Give  a  woman  a  home  of  her  own  that 
he  couldn't  touch,  and  then  give  her  an  income  fit  to  raise 


434         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

her  children,  and  he'd  come  into  that  house  and  behave,  or 
he'd  be  sent  out  again,  and  she  wouldn't  age  ten  years  in 
three,  nor  be  dragged  down  to  the  hell  of  nagging  to  pro- 
tect herself  against  him.  I  tell  you,  Noland,  Kansas 
would  be  a  stronger  state  right  now,  and  a  damned  sight 
stronger  state  twenty  years  from  now,  if  the  women  owned 
and  run  half  of  its  affairs  at  least."  Doctor  Morgan 
ended  quite  out  of  breath. 

"I  guess  you're  right,  doctor,  but  I've  got  to  get  some 
barb  wire  loaded  to  take  home,  and  you've  preached  the 
regulation  hour  and  a  half,"  Hugh  said.  He  was  living 
in  the  Hunter  home,  and  he  really  loved  both  John  Hun- 
ter and  his  wife,  and  honour  demanded  that  he  should 
not  gossip  about  them. 

"  Right  you  are,  my  boy.  And  I  see  your  point  too;  I've 
no  business  to  talk  professional  secrets  even  to  you."  He 
laid  his  arm  affectionately  across  the  younger  man's 
shoulder  and  squared  him  around  so  that  he  could  look 
into  his  face.  "This  is  only  a  side  of  life  I  battle  with  in 
almost  every  home  I  go  into.  I'm  almost  glad  you  can't 
marry;  it'll  leave  you  where  I  can  respect  you.  Think  of 
a  woman  having  a  child  she  don't  want!  and  think  of  a 
man  respecting  himself  afterward !  It  destroys  a  woman's 
body,  but  the  men  —  well,  it's  the  most  damnable,  soul- 
destroying  thing  in  a  man's  life;  he's  lost  and  don't  even 
know  it.  Run  along,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "or  I'll  hold 
forth  for  another  hour  in  an  unprofessional  way.  It 
makes  me  swear  to  see  a  pretty  girl  made  old  before  she's 
twenty-five. " 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         435 

But  Elizabeth  Hunter  was  not  to  be  an  old  woman 
before  she  was  twenty-five,  for  Elizabeth  had  Hepsie  in 
the  kitchen,  she  had  learned  to  protect  herself  by  refusing 
to  be  oppressed  about  the  work  she  did  do,  and  the  weeks 
of  rest  that  followed  John's  going  were  filled  with  the 
things  which  rested  and  restored  her.  It  was  not  long 
till  she  was  as  attractive  as  she  had  ever  been  in  all  the 
years  of  her  girlhood.  Elizabeth  was  barely  twenty- 
three,  and  there  was  a  good  constitution  back  of  her  which 
rest  could  set  right;  she  was  one  of  nature's  favourites  to 
whom  colour  and  spirits  return  quickly.  Every  charm 
of  person  she  had  was  enhanced  by  her  present  surround- 
ings, for  the  brightness  and  freedom  which  came  from 
John's  absence  were  the  crowning  things  needed  to  com- 
plete her  recovery. 

Hugh  Noland  read  to  Elizabeth  nightly,  and  in  the 
daytime  her  comfort  was  his  first  thought.  The  work  of 
cooking  for  those  shellers  had  been  his  work  as  much  as 
John's,  but  it  had  all  fallen  on  her,  fallen,  according  to 
Doctor  Morgan,  at  a  time  when  a  man  shielded  even  the 
mare  in  his  harness  from  overwork.  As  he  watched  the 
colour  come  back  to  the  girl's  face  day  by  day  he  recog- 
nized that  the  miracle  was  brought  about  by  rest.  In  the 
return  of  Elizabeth's  beauty  there  was  a  new  element 
which  Hugh  Noland  saw  but  did  not  recognize  as  new:  to 
the  roundness  of  girlhood  was  added  the  strength  and 
experience  of  womanhood,  to  the  mere  physical  charm  of 
youth  the  maturity  and  poise  of  the  woman  who  has 
fought,  if  not  conquered,  self. 


436         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

John  had  set  the  example  of  late  hours,  and  the  two 
read  throughout  the  long,  early  summer  evenings  quite  as 
much  from  habit  as  from  inclination.  It  had  been  the 
established  custom  of  the  house  for  so  long  that  Hepsie 
and  the  hired  man  accepted  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 
The  men  saw  little  of  it  because  one  of  the  first  things 
Hugh  had  done  when  he  had  returned  from  Mitchell 
County  had  been  to  partition  off  a  room  in  the  well-built 
barn  for  the  accommodation  of  the  men.  Jake,  who 
loved  Elizabeth  with  a  dog-like  fidelity,  came  and  went 
about  the  house  more  freely  than  the  rest,  and  saw  the 
two  seated  about  the  sitting-room  lamp,  and  was  as  glad 
as  if  he  had  had  a  place  among  them. 

"It's  hers,  God  bless  'er!"  he  had  said  the  night  after 
John's  departure,  "an'  I'm  mighty  glad  she's  got  it. 
She  ain't  had  much  t'  make  'er  glad  since  I've  been  around 
these  diggin's." 

Those  were  evenings  never  to  be  forgotten.  As  Hugh 
read,  Elizabeth  listened  with  the  open-mouthed  joy  of 
girlhood,  but  the  substance  of  what  they  read  was  viewed 
from  the  standpoint  of  a  woman.  Hugh  found  the  girl's 
mind  keen  and  alert.  They  began  to  turn  to  the  classics, 
and  Hugh  Noland,  whose  profession  it  had  been  to  teach, 
was  surprised  and  delighted  with  the  aptitude  and  view- 
points of  his  pupil.  Elizabeth  pursued  literature  with 
her  usual  thoroughgoing  absorption;  the  dictionary  was 
brought  out  and  laid  upon  the  table,  and  with  it  she  spent 
long  hours  when  Hugh  was  in  the  field. 

The  second  week  in  June,  Hugh  Noland  was  brought  to 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         437 

a  sudden  stop  in  the  delicious  holiday  experience  by  a 
remark  of  Elizabeth's.  The  book  had  been  finished  earlier 
than  was  usual  for  them  to  stop  reading,  and  it  had  been 
decided  that  it  was  too  late  to  begin  another  that  night. 
Hugh  was  not  ready  to  go  to  bed,  and  sat  watching  her  as 
she  straightened  up  the  littered  table.  A  book  of  poems 
they  had  once  read  fell  open  and  the  girl  picked  it  up  and 
began  to  read  to  herself.  In  a  moment  she  was  literally 
engulfed  in  it,  and  he  watched  her  deep  abstraction  in  full 
sympathy  with  the  mood  it  represented.  Presently  she 
began  to  read  aloud. 

Elizabeth  read  on  and  on,  and  Hugh  dropped  back  into 
his  chair  and  listened,  studying  her  as  she  stood  before 
him  reading  so  intently  that  she  forgot  that  she  stood. 
When  the  end  was  reached  she  dropped  the  book  on  the 
table  with  a  rapturous  indrawn  breath. 

"I  never  knew  what  real  happiness  was  before,"  she 
said.  "I  wonder  if  they  read  in  heaven?" 

"They'd  have  to  let  us  read  in  our  heaven  or  it  wouldn't 
be  heaven,"  Hugh  Noland  replied. 

With  the  words  still  in  his  mouth  he  realized  what  he 
had  said.  The  serpent  had  invaded  their  paradise: 
henceforth  they  would  wander  outside  of  its  confines. 
With  a  self-conscious  flush,  he  shifted  the  eyes  into  which 
she  was  looking,  and  arose  to  say  good-night. 

Although  she  did  not  understand  it,  Elizabeth  also 
turned  hastily  away;  Hugh  Noland's  embarrassment  com- 
municated itself  to  her.  Her  confusion  puzzled  her. 
Glancing  at  the  clock,  she  saw  that  it  was  near  midnight; 


438         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

she  had  read  longer  than  she  had  thought.  In  her  sur- 
prised consideration  of  what  Hepsie  would  think  if  she 
should  hear  Hugh  pass  her  door  at  that  hour,  she  got  the 
first  burst  of  light  on  the  subject.  Until  now  she  had 
gone  along  night  after  night  reading  with  Hugh  Noland, 
absorbed  in  the  books,  and  without  any  sort  of  attitude 
toward  the  man  except  that  of  good-fellowship,  but  now 
she  stood  revealed  to  herself  and  was  covered  with  shame. 
That  Hugh  might  be  in  love  with  her  did  not  occur  to 
her,  but  that  he  knew  that  she  had  feelings  out  of  keeping 
with  her  vows  of  marriage  she  felt  certain,  and  with  her 
usual  intensity  Elizabeth  went  over  the  mark  in  her 
shame  and  contrition. 

"What  must  he  have  thought  I  meant?  What  must 
he  think  of  me  as  a  woman?  Worse  yet,  what  must  he 
think  of  me  as  a  wife?"  she  asked  herself,  and  each  ques- 
tion left  her  more  bitterly  humiliated,  more  self-distrust- 
ing, more  unhappy. 

They  were  to  learn,  however,  that  three  months  of  con- 
tinual association  over  the  books  had  formed  a  habit  not 
easily  laid  aside.  To  the  habit  of  intellectual  compan- 
ionship had  been  added  the  joy  of  close  and  reciprocated 
affection,  and  the  sudden  breaking  off  of  this  daily  com- 
munication left  both  of  them,  especially  Hugh,  in  a  con- 
dition of  almost  tragic  loneliness,  but  honest  of  heart  and 
true  of  purpose,  both  avoided  further  readings. 

The  nights  were  hot  now;  "good  corn  weather,"  Jake 
called  it,  and  the  time  had  come  to  "  lay  by  "  the  early 
planting.  John's  absence  had  retarded  the  plowing,  for 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         439 

try  as  he  would  the  chores  kept  Hugh  late  in  the  morning 
and  had  compelled  him  to  quit  early  at  night.  It  had  not 
been  his  intention  to  take  the  place  of  an  active  field 
worker,  but  the  season  had  come  on  so  rapidly  that  the 
weeds  threatened  to  get  the  better  of  the  hired  men,  and 
though  it  was  all  to  learn  over  again,  Hugh  had  gone  out 
with  the  intention  of  doing  good  work  and  had  succeeded, 
to  Jake's  astonishment  and  great  admiration.  It  served 
Hugh's  plans  at  this  point  to  put  in  the  long  hours  away 
from  the  house,  knowing  that  otherwise  he  would  fall 
back  into  the  old  life  of  the  book  at  once.  At  first  the 
heavy  cultivator  handles  absorbed  his  time  and  thought, 
for  it  was  fifteen  years  since  Hugh  Noland  had  cultivated 
corn,  but  when  the  work  became  more  mechanical  his 
mind  wandered  back  to  forbidden  ground  and  the  days 
were  harder  than  any  he  had  ever  known. 

One  frightfully  hot  day,  near  the  end  of  the  plowing  of 
the  first  field,  which  lay  near  the  house,  Hugh  found  it 
necessary  to  rest  the  horses  frequently.  With  each  period 
of  rest  his  thoughts  returned  to  Elizabeth  with  new  force 
and  longing;  his  mind  worked  continually  on  the  reading 
matter  they  had  gone  over,  and  constantly  he  wanted  to 
elaborate  or  discuss  some  subject  left  unfinished.  It  was 
the  devil  with  which  he  had  to  wrestle.  Also,  she  showed 
the  strain  of  disappointment  when  he  met  her  at  meals, 
and  he  found  himself  struggling  with  Doctor  Morgan's 
observations  on  her  health,  her  husband,  and  her  happi- 
ness. As  far  as  John  was  concerned,  he  thought  the  old 
doctor  was  mistaken,  and  be  it  remembered,  Hugh  Noland 


440         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

had  a  genuine  liking  for  John  Hunter.  That  liking  added 
to  the  seriousness  of  his  situation  in  John  Hunter's  home. 

He  mopped  his  perspiring  brow,  while  little  wet  lines 
showed  in  the  creases  of  his  sleeves  and  across  the  back  of 
his  thin  summer  shirt.  The  fierce  heat  parched  his  mouth 
and  his  whole  burning  body  called  for  a  drink.  Tying  his 
team  to  a  post  an  hour  after  noon  he  vaulted  over  the 
fence  and  walked  to  the  creek,  picking  his  way  down  to  the 
narrow  stream.  The  heat  of  summer  was  drying  the 
brook  up  rapidly;  already  there  was  but  a  tiny  rivulet, 
but  such  as  was  left  curled  and  trickled  between  grassy 
banks  in  a  manner  to  attract  the  eye  of  a  thirsty  man. 
Hugh  knelt  on  a  hummock  with  his  hand  on  the  opposite 
bank  and  drank  as  only  the  man  who  plows  corn  on  a  hot 
June  day  can.  As  he  stood  up  he  paused  with  his  hand- 
kerchief halfway  to  his  face  and  listened,  while  the  water 
dripped  from  nose  and  chin  unheeded.  The  continuous 
tones  of  a  voice  reading  aloud  reached  him.  It  was  such 
a  curious  place  to  encounter  such  a  phenomenon  that  he 
listened  intently  for  a  moment. 

"Elizabeth!"  he  whispered. 

Every  pulse  in  Hugh  Noland's  body  pounded  suddenly. 
On  the  first  impulse  he  was  away  in  her  direction,  walking 
rapidly  and  without  effort  at  concealment.  Without  tak- 
ing time  to  think,  without  knowing  or  caring  whether  it 
were  wise,  he  walked  as  straight  toward  the  spot  as  the 
laden  bee  to  the  hive. 

Hugh's  coming  fell  upon  Elizabeth  suddenly,  but  the 
perfect  naturalness  of  her  joy  put  him  at  his  ease. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         441 

"I  heard  you  reading,"  he  said  simply.  "What  are  you 
working  on  now?" 

He  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  beside  the  willow 
trunk  on  which  she  was  seated  and  held  out  his  hand  for 
the  book.  After  running  his  eye  over  the  page  he  handed 
it  back  to  her  with  the  request  that  she  read  on.  The  heat 
of  the  summer  day  shimmered  along  the  horizon  outside, 
but  here  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  willows  the  delicious 
afternoon  air  lulled  his  senses  and  made  of  the  spot  a  para- 
dise of  comfort  and  contentment.  The  girl  was  the 
embodiment  of  everything  sweet  and  womanly  to  him, 
and  the  joy  of  the  moment,  bringing  added  colour  to  her 
cheeks,  made  the  utmost  contrast  imaginable  to  the  dust 
and  drudgery  of  the  afternoon  in  the  corn  rows. 

Hugh's  coming  had  been  so  obviously  voluntary  and 
joyous  that  the  fear  she  had  entertained,  that  he  would 
think  ill  of  her  as  John  Hunter's  wife,  was  set  at  rest. 
The  old  confidence,  sympathy,  and  companionship  were 
retendered,  and  the  girl  met  it  with  her  habitual  openness. 
She  accepted  the  book  from  his  hand  and  read  as  asked. 
Hugh  Noland  watched  her  earnestly,  and  recalled  the 
things  he  had  been  told  about  her  and  her  affairs.  On 
more  than  one  occasion  he  had  been  told  that  she  had  been 
neglected,  and  at  the  time  had  put  the  tale  away  as  foolish 
farm  gossip,  but  Doctor  Morgan  was  no  fool,  and  his 
gossip  was  usually  not  only  true  but  had  on  this  particular 
occasion  fallen  out  with  vehemence  and  conviction.  As 
he  looked  at  her  he  asked  himself  how  any  man  could 
neglect  a  woman  of  Elizabeth's  sincere  qualities.  She  was 


442         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

so  true  that  the  only  indication  that  he  had  ever  received 
of  even  a  slight  difference  of  opinion  with  her  husband  had 
been  the  accidental  one  regarding  debts.  He  remembered 
a  remark  of  Sadie  Hansen's  to  the  effect  that  John  Hunter 
never  took  his  wife  anywhere,  and  he  remembered  that  in 
the  four  months  he  had  been  in  the  house  he  had  never 
heard  him  offer  to  do  so,  and  then  Hugh  Noland  remem- 
bered that  he  had  no  right  to  think  about  it  at  all.  How- 
ever, his  mind  recurred  to  it  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do, 
and  presently  he  was  immersed  in  the  old  consideration. 
Loyalty  must  be  one  of  her  qualities:  four  months  he  had 
been  in  her  house  and  she  had  never  been  taken  anywhere 
except  to  Nathan's,  where  he  himself  had  taken  her,  and 
she  had  never  remarked  upon  it,  and  she  was  but  twenty- 
three  ! 

"Twenty-three!"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

"What  was  it  you  said?"  Elizabeth  asked,  looking  up. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied  guiltily. 

Elizabeth  became  conscious  and  embarrassed. 

"I've  kept  you  all  afternoon!"  she  exclaimed,  getting 
suddenly  to  her  feet. 

"I  wanted  to  be  kept,"  Hugh  admitted  slowly,  rising 
also.  "  It's  frightfully  hot  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
I'll  work  late,  and  milk  after  dark." 

"I'll  bring  up  the  cows  and  do  the  milking,"  she  volun- 
teered. 

"Let  me  see  you!"  he  protested,  and  went  to  his  work 
again. 

Hugh  Noland  had  never  even  guessed  that  he  would 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         443 

walk  deliberately  over  and  spend  a  whole  afternoon  with 
a  woman  he  had  no  right  to  love  after  becoming  aware 
that  he  was  already  in  love  with  her.  For  the  first  time 
he  stood  in  the  limelight  of  strong  emotions  and  knew  him- 
self for  what  he  was,  not  only  that  he  was  a  mere  man,  but 
that  he  was  a  man  who  was  not  showing  the  proper  control 
over  feelings  and  emotions  which  thousands  of  men  and 
women  alike  controlled  every  day.  He  worked  his  prob- 
lem over  as  he  worked  the  mellow  soil  about  the  corn 
roots  and  made  himself  late,  but  with  contradictory  im- 
pulses hurried  the  milking  when  he  did  get  at  it  so  as  to 
get  down  to  the  book  again. 

Elizabeth  had  taken  time  to  think  out  her  side  of  their 
position,  and  told  herself  that  she  hoped  that  Hugh  would 
not  offer  to  read  to-night,  but  as  the  time  approached  she 
trimmed  the  lamp  and  arranged  the  books  on  the  sitting- 
room  table  with  a  slight  sense  of  worry  for  fear  he  would 
not  come,  and  conscious  that  the  evening  was  going  fast. 
It  was  late  when  they  began,  and  correspondingly  late 
when  they  finished  the  reading  that  night. 

The  next  night  Hugh  sat  on  the  upturned  manure  cart 
talking  to  the  men  till  he  saw  Elizabeth  put  out  the  light 
in  the  sitting  room,  and  then,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  strong  enough  to  stay  away,  was  sorry  that  he 
had  not  had  one  more  night's  reading  with  her  before  John 
came  home.  John  was  coming  in  the  morning,  and  Hugh 
was  to  meet  him,  and  Hugh  Noland  did  not  like  himself, 
nor  the  position  he  would  be  in  when  he  thought  of  greet- 
ing John  Hunter  as  a  friend. 


444         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

The  better  to  think  things  out  and  decide  what  he  would 
do,  Hugh  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  and  did  not  go  in. 
The  night  was  perfect.  There  was  a  full  moon  and  the 
soft  breeze  was  a  delicious  reminder  of  the  coolness  of  the 
leafy  bower  among  the  willows  where  he  had  spent  the 
afternoon  with  Elizabeth.  There  was  to  be  no  more  of 
Elizabeth  for  him,  God  bless  her!  Elizabeth  was  a  wife 
and  honour  demanded  that  not  even  a  glance  of  affection 
pass  between  them.  This  Hugh  Noland  believed,  and 
yet  when  they  were  together  their  little  embarrassments 
cried  their  love  aloud,  and  neither  could  mentally  avoid 
the  issue.  Each  had  known  that  the  other  had  resolved 
and  suffered  and  fallen  into  the  temptation  of  the  reading. 
The  book  was  becoming  a  delicious  torment.  He  could 
not  stay  in  that  house.  Plainly,  it  was  going  to  be  neces- 
sary for  him  to  go  away.  The  business  demanded  his 
attention,  and  he  decided  to  go  to  Mitchell  County.  At 
that  point  Hugh  stopped  in  his  calculations  to  consider 
how  things  would  run  at  this  end  of  the  line  if  he  did  so. 

In  summing  the  business  up,  Hugh  summed  up  his  im- 
pression of  John  Hunter  along  with  it,  and  found  himself 
reluctant  to  go  away  and  leave  everything  in  his  hands. 
John  was  industrious  and  tidy  about  his  work.  Dear  old 
John!  He  had  come  very  near  Hugh's  heart  in  the  short 
time  they  had  been  together.  The  daily  consideration  of 
possible  death  had  mellowed  Hugh  Noland's  naturally 
fine  nature,  and  given  him  the  tenderness  of  attitude  and 
thought  that  the  sublime  and  inevitable  impose  upon  those 
who  live  in  its  shadow.  Actions  considered  as  final  are 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         445 

warmer  and  less  likely  to  be  inconsiderate  than  those  where 
there  is  a  feeling  of  indefinite  time  to  correct  mistakes. 
Hugh  sat  now  and  let  his  heart  run  out  to  John  with  all 
the  love  of  a  more  than  usually  affectionate  nature.  In 
his  heart  he  wanted  John  back  home,  and  yet  it  made  him 
uneasy.  There  was  a  peculiar  sense  of  being  a  traitor  as 
he  considered  the  meeting  with  this  man  who  had  trusted 
his  home  in  his  hands.  In  regard  to  the  business,  he, 
Hugh,  would  have  to  let  things  take  their  own  course. 
All  he  had  on  earth  was  in  this  farm  now,  but  he  would  get 
away  as  soon  as  he  could  possibly  do  so;  he  would  sacrifice 
that  much  to  the  man  whose  home  he  had  entered.  Hugh 
knew  to  a  nicety  how  necessary  it  would  be  for  his  inter- 
ests in  a  business  way  to  be  here  on  the  ground  and  keep 
John  Hunter  from  going  into  debt.  Hugh  had  his  own 
judgment,  neighbourhood  gossip,  and  Doctor  Morgan's 
plain  instructions  on  that  point,  but  was  resolved  to  go  if 
he  lost  all  that  he  had  in  so  doing.  "Well,  at  any  rate,  he 
can't  mortgage  anything  without  consulting  me,  and  I'll 
get  as  much  of  the  stock  out  there  as  I  can  after  next 
year  —  that  is,  if  there  is  any  next  year  for  me, "  he  said, 
as  he  got  up  to  go  to  bed  long  after  midnight. 

The  morning  of  John's  return  Elizabeth  asked  Hugh 
to  take  her  as  far  as  Nathan's  on  his  way  in  to  town. 
Hugh  had  not  sat  on  the  step  till  midnight  the  night  before 
to  let  himself  fall  into  temptation  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  and  suggested  that  since  the  shafts  of  the  buggy 
were  mended  that  she  drive  over  to  Nathan's  alone,  giving 
as  his  reason  that  he  might  be  unable  to  come  back 


446         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

promptly.  The  girl  fell  into  his  plan  so  readily  that 
Hugh  in  his  contradictory  frame  of  mind  wondered  about 
it  and  was  half  hurt.  As  he  hitched  Patsie  into  the  shafts, 
however,  he  reasoned  it  out  that  Elizabeth  Hunter  was 
probably  making  the  same  fight  that  he  was  making.  He 
tied  the  mare  in  the  side  lane  and  left  her  there  without 
going  to  the  house  as  usual  to  help  with  Jack.  If  she  were 
fighting  for  her  own  esteem,  as  he  was  doing,  Hugh  re- 
solved not  to  be  the  cause  of  temptation;  it  made  him  feel 
a  little  better  about  meeting  John.  Could  he  have  known, 
as  Elizabeth  did,  that  it  was  the  first  time  since  her  mar- 
riage that  she  had  had  the  privilege  of  driving  alone 
and  that  the  precedent  once  established  would  settle  the 
possibility  of  demanding  a  horse  whenever  she  wanted  it, 
it  would  have  put  a  different  complexion  on  the  matter. 

In  order  for  Elizabeth  to  use  the  buggy,  however,  Hugh 
was  obliged  to  drive  the  strange  team.  Jake  had  been 
using  them  since  John's  absence,  but  had  come  in  from  the 
field  the  night  before  with  the  announcement  that  he  did 
not  intend  "  to  risk  his  neck  with  them  broncos  any 
more."  Before  Hugh  got  to  Colebyville  he  was  thor- 
oughly displeased  with  them,  and  spoke  of  his  dislike  of 
them  to  John  on  the  way  home. 

"A  few  days  on  the  harvester  '11  fix  them,"  John 
replied. 

"Well,  they're  acting  better  than  they  did  on  the  way 
in.  They're  hot  and  tired,  and  maybe  the  harvester  will 
do  it,  but  they're  a  bad  lot,"  Hugh  replied  wearily.  "I 
feel  that  I've  got  to  get  away  to  Mitchell  County.  The 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         447 

cattle  have  been  on  my  mind  for  days.  You'll  have 
this  team  on  your  hands,  for  none  of  the  men  but  Jake 
would  try  to  use  them,  and  he  told  me  last  night  he'd  used 
them  for  the  last  time." 

"Aren't  you  well,  Hugh?"  John  Hunter  asked  with 
such  concern  that  Hugh  was  covered  with  humiliation  and 
shame. 

"Oh,  yes-s-s.  But  you  can  run  the  place  and  I'm  not 
hanging  out  like  I  thought  I  could  —  and  I  like  it  down 
there;  it's  more  like  the  life  I've  been  ordered  to  lead." 

"Wait  till  the  rye  has  been  cut.  Did  you  say  Silas 
wanted  us  to  cut  his  too?"  John  Hunter  asked. 

"Yes.  He  stopped  me  as  I  drove  over  this  morning. 
The  boys  will  lay  the  early  corn  by  to-day;  we  can  get  the 
binder  out  to-morrow  and  see  that  it  is  ready  by  the  day 
after.  We  might  have  been  through  with  the  corn  to-day, 
but  I've  been  lazy  of  late.  I  knocked  off  and  rested  and 
read  most  of  the  hot  part  of  yesterday  afternoon, "  Hugh 
replied  slowly.  He  wished  in  his  heart  that  he  could  tell 
all. 

"That's  the  thing  to  do.  I'm  not  going  to  have  you 
going  down  to  Mitchell  County  while  it's  so  hot.  You'll 
lay  around  the  house  and  read,  that's  what  you'll  do,  and 
I'll  run  this  farm  for  a  while. " 

The  thought  of  that  took  Hugh  Noland's  breath.  That 
was  what  he  was  running  away  from,  but  he  could  think  of 
no  reason  but  his  health,  and  dropped  the  subject  to  get 
away  from  it. 

John  Hunter  asked  questions  about  every  feature  of  the 


448         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

farm  work,  and  as  he  asked  watched  Hugh's  face,  looking 
anxiously  for  signs  of  breaking  health.  Under  no  con- 
ditions would  he  let  Hugh  get  sick.  Hugh  had  been  the 
happiest  circumstance  of  this  farming  experience.  There 
was  a  discouraged  note  in  Hugh's  voice  that  John  did  not 
like. 

"Did  you  see  Morgan  to-day?"  he  asked  after  he  had 
had  all  the  farm  work  explained  to  him. 

"Oh,  now,  don't  you  get  to  worrying  because  I  happen 
to  mention  my  health.  Yes,  I  saw  Morgan,  and  he 
agreed  with  me  that  the  other  place  would  be  better  for 
me.  I  can  run  that  and  you  can  run  this,  and  with  care 
we  ought  to  make  some  money  pretty  soon. " 

"But  that  takes  you  away  from  us  and  — •  and  we  want 
you  here!"  John  exclaimed  with  such  fervour  that  Hugh 
winced  under  it. 

Hugh  smiled  so  sadly  back  at  the  eager,  boyish  face 
turned  to  his  that  John  was  more  than  ever  sure  he  was 
ill.  His  hand  shot  out  to  him  with  an  almost  womanish 
sympathy. 

"We'll  see  to  it  that  you're  kept  busy  where  you  belong, 
and  the  work  won't  wear  you  out  either,  my  boy, "  he  said. 

Hugh  saw  that  he  was  getting  deeper  in  at  every  word 
he  uttered  and  went  back  to  a  discussion  of  the  farm 
work. 

Elizabeth  waited  intentionally  till  she  saw  the  men  pass 
Nathan's  house  before  she  started  home.  Try  as  she 
would,  she  did  not  yearn  for  her  husband's  return.  Life 
was  short,  her  youth  was  going  fast,  and  her  fear  of  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         449 

faded  life  grew  as  she  looked  forward  to  an  old  age  spent 
with  John  Hunter  after  Hugh's  departure.  Hugh  must 
go,  there  was  no  question  about  that.  He  had  told  her 
night  before  last  that  he  thought  of  it;  had  spoken  of  it 
incidentally  enough,  but  in  such  wise  that  the  girl  knew 
why  he  was  going.  She  had  felt  at  the  time  that  Hugh 
listened  for  her  reply,  but  there  was  none  she  could  make, 
and  her  silence  added  the  final  word  to  his  decision. 
Elizabeth  knew  that  it  was  the  only  honourable  course; 
she  consented  to  it  in  her  mind,  and  yet,  as  she  looked 
ahead  to  a  time  when  she  could  not  have  him  to  take 
shelter  behind  with  the  cream  jars  of  her  life,  she  was 
sick  at  what  she  must  face.  Even  to-day  she  hoped 
that  he  would  be  present  when  she  drove  Patsie  into  the 
yard. 

Fortune  favoured  Elizabeth  in  getting  home  with  the 
horse  and  buggy.  John  had  said  that  he  was  going  to  the 
pasture  to  look  over  the  stock,  and  when  Hugh  saw 
Elizabeth  drive  through  the  gate  they  had  left  open,  there 
was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  go  forward  to  take  her 
horse.  John  had  seen  her  coming  and  had  come  back 
from  the  pasture  gate,  and  the  three  met. 

"See  how  brave  I  have  become  in  your  absence,"  she 
said. 

"Well,  I  guess  you've  driven  horses  as  long  as  I  have," 
John  Hunter  replied  happily,  and  kissed  the  astonished 
wife  and  the  child  in  her  arms  with  such  real  pleasure  in 
returning  to  them  that  it  was  good  to  meet  him  after  all. 

"If  he'd  always  be  like  that,"  Elizabeth  thought  wist- 


450        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWK 

fully,  and  Hugh  Noland  felt  more  like  a  criminal  in  the 
presence  of  that  kiss  than  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life. 

"Here,  I'll  tie  Patsie  up  after  I  give  her  a  drink.  You 
go  in  with  Elizabeth  and  I'll  follow  as  soon  as  its  done," 
John  said  to  Hugh,  and  turning  to  Elizabeth  said,  "You 
haven't  taken  very  good  care  of  him  since  I've  been  away, 
dear.  Go  on  in  and  get  a  book  and  I'll  listen  for  an  hour 
before  I  go  to  the  pasture. " 

"  I'll  do  no  such  thing.  I'll  go  to  that  pasture  with  you 
—  that's  what  I'll  do.  I'm  not  sick.  Rats!  Elizabeth 
knows  I " 

Hugh  Noland  stopped  short,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs. 
Hunter,"  he  added  confusedly. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  shouldn't  call  me  by  my  first 
name;  I  do  you,"  Elizabeth  answered,  glad  in  spite  of 
herself. 

Hugh  went  away  with  John,  and  Elizabeth  had  a  long 
time  to  think  about  it.  It  was  the  first  time  Hugh  had 
ever  dropped  into  the  least  familiarity  in  addressing  her, 
and  no  amount  of  reasoning  could  keep  her  from  feeling  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  over  it.  She  did  not  approve  of  herself, 
but  the  thrill  was  there.  She  hated  herself,  but  the  thrill 
remained.  She  wondered  bitterly  if  she  would  ever  be 
able  to  approve  of  herself  again;  every  turn  of  life's  wheel 
brought  out  some  new  and  hitherto  unsuspected  charac- 
teristic, and  try  as  she  would  she  could  not  make  herself 
do  as  her  code  of  morals  demanded  that  she  should.  She 
thought  of  her  various  friends;  none  of  them  had  ever 
been  guilty  of  the  things  Elizabeth  found  herself  culpable 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         451 

of.  Sadie  had  rebelled  against  her  first  child,  but  when 
shown  the  consequences  had  cheerfully  applied  the  lesson, 
while  she,  Elizabeth,  had  been  unable  to  put  into  practice 
later  the  very  precepts  she  had  so  glibly  given  her  neigh- 
bour. None  of  her  friends  had  ever  committed  the 
folly  of  falling  in  love  with  men  who  were  not  their 
husbands. 

Elizabeth  would  not  stay  for  the  reading  that  night,  and 
had  a  bad  hour  before  she  fell  asleep.  Her  love  for  Hugh 
looked  even  worse  to  her  since  John's  arrival  than  it  had 
done  before.  This  new  phase  of  her  life  was  even  less  able 
to  command  respect  than  any  which  had  preceded  it. 
Why  was  she  vexed  with  such  unheard  of  temptations? 
It  did  not  comfort  her  to  reason  it  out  that  this  thing  had 
fallen  upon  her  without  any  wish  of  hers,  that  the  thrill 
which  had  followed  his  use  of  her  name  was  not  a  thing  she 
had  deliberately  fostered  within  herself;  she  demanded  of 
herself  that  she  should  not  thrill  at  his  voice,  not  knowing 
that  she  demanded  the  impossible. 

The  rye  was  to  be  cut  at  Silas  Chamberlain's.  John 
suggested  to  Elizabeth  that  she  had  better  go  over  to  help 
Liza  Ann,  since  she  was  alone,  saying  that  he  would  take 
her  over  when  he  went.  Hugh  was  to  go  with  the  ma- 
chine. Jake  would  drive  the  extra  team  over,  and  the 
other  two  men  would  plow  corn  at  home.  A  few  min- 
utes before  nine  o'clock  John  announced  that  he  was 
ready.  He  had  come  in  to  carry  Jack  to  the  buggy 
for  her.  John  had  gone  away  with  the  impressions 
of  Elizabeth's  illness  still  upon  him,  and  looked  out 


452         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

for  her  with  the  same  care  he  had  accorded  her  when 
an  invalid. 

"How  long?"  he  asked,  dropping  down  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed  beside  the  machine  upon  which  she  had  been 
putting  in  the  spare  time. 

"Just  this  one  little  seam;  I'll  have  it  done  then." 

She  stooped  over  the  machine  to  finish  the  seam  quickly, 
not  liking  to  keep  John  waiting  when  he  was  already  some- 
what late. 

Jack  slipped  from  his  father's  lap,  and  fascinated  by 
the  swiftly  moving  wheel  on  a  level  with  his  face,  put  out 
a  pudgy  little  forefinger  to  feel  of  it  as  it  went  around. 
His  mother  saw  it  and  stopped  short  with  a  little  cry  of 
alarm. 

"Don't  do  that,  Jack!"  she  said  sharply.  "It'll  take 
your  finger  right  off  of  your  hand  if  you  get  it  in  there." 

Jack  put  his  hand  behind  his  little  back,  and  stood  in 
round-eyed  wonder  watching  the  wheel  as  she  started  to 
sew  again. 

John  was  getting  restless  and  wanted  to  go. 

"Aren't  you  about " 

Elizabeth  looked  up  at  him  as  he  started  to  speak,  and 
Jack's  finger  shot  out  to  the  forbidden  wheel  on  the  in- 
stant. Elizabeth  saw  it  at  a  point  when  she  could  not 
control  the  pedal  with  her  foot.  Mother  love  brought  a 
scream  to  her  lips,  and  to  save  the  child  she  gave  him  a 
shove  with  her  hand.  Jack  fell  on  the  floor  in  a  heap, 
striking  his  head  on  the  bedpost  as  he  did  so. 

John  had  clutched  at  him  ineffectually  as  he  fell  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         453 

caught  him  up  as  soon  as  he  could  get  hold  of  him,  turning 
him  over  in  his  arms  to  see  where  he  was  hurt.  The  blood 
spurted  from  the  little  nose,  giving  an  appearance  of  seri- 
ous injury  to  the  matter  all  out  of  proportion  to  the  exact 
nature  of  the  damage  sustained,  but  as  usual,  when 
excited,  John  saw  only  surface  indications. 

"What  does  possess  you  when  you're  cross?"  he  ex- 
claimed as  he  relinquished  his  hold  on  the  baby,  who, 
however  badly  he  might  be  hurt,  was  struggling  to  get  to 
his  mother's  arms. 

Elizabeth  carried  the  screaming  child  to  the  kitchen  to 
bathe  the  bruised  nose  and  apply  a  wet  cloth  to  the  nasty 
blue  ridge  beginning  to  form  where  the  little  cheek  had 
encountered  the  bedpost. 

"I  never  saw  any  one  act  like  you  do  with  a  child," 
John  said  with  his  usual  irritation. 

"I  didn't  intend  to  knock  him  over,  but  I  couldn't  stop 
my  foot  and  I  thought  he'd  get  his  little  finger  taken  right 
off  before  my  very  eyes." 

"Well,  you  shouldn't  go  at  him  so  rough.  You  always 
treat  him  as  if  he  were  a  block  of  wood. " 

Elizabeth's  lips  closed  down  tight,  and  to  keep  Jack 
from  hearing  further  criticisms  of  her  management  she 
went  back  to  the  bedroom.  When  John  was  ready  to  go 
he  called  to  her  from  the  lane,  and  she  carried  Jack  to  the 
door  instead  of  laying  him  down. 

"Take  Hepsie  with  you.  Tell  Mrs.  Chamberlain  that 
I  got  ready  to  come.  He'd  probably  be  cross  if  I  went 
now.  Hepsie's  in  the  potato  patch,"  Elizabeth  said  in 


454         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

a  low  voice,  and  went  back  so  promptly  that  John  could 
not  reply. 

John  took  Hepsie  with  him,  and  explained  to  Liza  Ann, 
as  Elizabeth  requested,  that  she  was  unable  to  come  be- 
cause Jack  had  hurt  himself. 

The  day  was  dry  and  hot,  and  John  Hunter  consumed 
water  like  a  fish  upon  all  occasions.  The  discovery  that 
the  water-jugs  had  been  left  at  home  called  for  instant 
action  when  he  arrived  in  the  field.  Silas  had  put  his 
team  on  the  binder  and  Patsie  was  free  for  use  on  just  such 
errands  as  this.  The  machine  had  just  been  driven  up  to 
where  Hugh  could  ask  for  water  also.  John  crossed  over 
and  laid  his  hand  on  the  lines. 

"Here,  you  take  the  horse  and  go  for  the  water.  I  for- 
got the  jugs;  you'll  have  to  go  clear  home  after  them." 

"Why  don't  you  do  it?"  Hugh  asked. 

John  Hunter  looked  him  over  rather  sharply  and  replied: 

"Because  I'm  going  to  drive  this  binder  to-day.  I 
don't  like  your  voice  very  well  since  I  got  home,  Hugh." 

"You  won't  hear  very  much  more  of  it  if  I  can  get  away 
day  after  to-morrow,"  Hugh  replied,  smiling  at  the  turn 
he  had  given  to  John's  sympathy. 

John  Hunter  grinned  back  at  him,  but  kept  his  hand 
on  the  lines,  and  Hugh  got  down. 

"You  can't  start  day  after  to-morrow,  for  we  won't  get 
this  rye  done,  and  you  won't  start  then,  my  boy,  with 
such  a  note  in  your  voice  as  that.  I've  spoken  to  Jake 
about  it  and  he'll  go.  I  don't  propose  to  have  you  that 
far  away  when  you  are  not  well  —  it  ain't  what  we  want 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         455 

you  for.  Go  on  and  get  that  water, "  he  added  when  he 
saw  the  expression  of  protest  in  Hugh's  face. 

Hugh  went  without  argument,  but  his  determination 
was  as  strong  as  ever.  Instead  of  going  around  the  road 
he  drove  across  the  field  to  the  fence  between  the  two 
places,  and,  tying  Patsie,  walked  through  the  cornfield  to 
the  pasture  and  on  toward  the  house. 

The  hot  sun  blazed  fiercely  down  on  his  thinly  clad  back, 
and  he  noticed  as  he  struggled  through  the  tasselling  corn 
that  the  leaves  were  already  firing  about  the  roots.  Rain 
was  essential,  but  he  reflected  that  enough  rain  to  do  the 
corn  any  good  would  ruin  the  small  grain  now  ready  to 
cut.  "Kansas  luck,"  he  muttered  as  he  crossed  the  deep 
ridges  thrown  up  by  his  own  cultivator  a  few  days  before. 
Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  and  by  the  time  he  had 
reached  the  house  he  was  hot  and  tired.  Reflecting  that 
John  had  taken  Elizabeth  to  Chamberlain's,  he  decided 
to  rest  before  he  started  back  with  the  heavy  water-jugs. 
He  stopped  in  the  kitchen  for  a  drink  and  took  a  small 
bottle  out  of  his  pocket. 

"Two,  I  guess,  this  time,"  he  said  as  he  poured  the 
tablets  into  his  hand.  He  dropped  his  finger  on  the  other 
wrist  a  moment,  and  then  swallowed  both  pellets. 

Elizabeth  heard  him  settle  himself  in  a  rocking  chair 
with  a  long-drawn  breath  of  comfort.  She  was  giving 
Jack  little  pats  to  ease  him  off  to  sleep  and  the  house  was 
very  quiet.  She  decided  to  keep  still  and  let  him  return 
to  the  field  without  seeing  her  tear-stained  face,  but  Jack 
roused  with  a  low  whimpering  cry  which  she  felt  sure 


456         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Hugh  must  have  heard,  and  as  soon  as  the  child  was  asleep 
she  walked  out  without  further  effort  at  concealment. 

At  the  noise  of  the  opening  door  Hugh  Noland  sprang 
to  his  feet  in  surprise;  he  had  been  half-asleep. 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  here!"  he  exclaimed 
when  he  saw  that  it  was  Elizabeth.  "I  thought  you  went 
to  Chamberlain's." 

His  eyes  riveted  themselves  upon  her  swollen  eyelids, 
and  when  she  stood  embarrassed  before  him  and  did  not 
reply  readily,  conscious  only  of  his  searching  gaze,  he 
misunderstood  and  added  gravely: 

"Elizabeth,  there  is  something  I  must  speak  about.  I 
cannot  have  you  worried  over  matters  between  us  - 

Elizabeth  Hunter's  eyes  ceased  to  be  shy  and  troubled 
and  came  up  to  his  in  such  complete  astonishment  that  he 
broke  off  in  confusion. 

There  was  a  pause  for  one  short  second,  and  then 
Elizabeth  spoke  in  nervous  haste,  and  as  if  to  ward  off 
something. 

"I  —  I  —  I  wasn't  crying  about  —  that  is,  I  hurt  Jack 
accidentally  and  —  and  John  misunderstood. " 

Even  while  the  words  were  still  in  her  mouth,  she  real- 
ized by  his  expression  that  what  she  was  saying  sounded 
like  a  complaint,  as  if  she  were  exposing  a  difference 
between  herself  and  her  husband,  and  that  was  the  one 
thing  that  under  no  circumstances  had  she  ever  done. 
She  made  a  frightened  stop  without  ending  the  sentence. 

As  if  to  save  his  mother  from  needless  embarrassment, 
Jack  slipped  to  the  floor  and  came  stumbling  out  on 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         457 

sleepy  legs,  tired  and  cross,  and  rubbing  his  sweaty  little 
face  with  hot,  sweaty  little  fists,  and  demanding  his 
mother's  attention.  Elizabeth  turned  to  him  with  a  relief 
beyond  words. 

Hugh  Noland,  who  had  always  loved  the  child,  was 
never  so  glad  to  see  him,  and  slipped  away  while  he  was 
being  soothed  and  petted  out  of  his  tears  and  discomfort. 
Both  Hugh  and  Elizabeth  knew  that  but  for  Jack's  timely 
interruption  words  would  have  escaped  Hugh  that  they 
both  preferred  should  not  be  uttered.  Both  knew  the 
situation,  but  both  saw  that  it  would  be  easier,  as  well  as 
safer  and  more  honourable,  not  to  discuss  it. 

"  I'll  not  think  any  more  about  going  away  —  I 
wouldn't  do  it  if  I  had  money, "  she  decided  as  she  watched 
Hugh  return  with  his  jug.  "I  married  John  Hunter  in 
good  faith,  and  I'll  live  with  him  in  good  faith  and 
straighten  things  out."  The  thought  of  her  love  for 
Hugh  came  up  and  she  added,  "I  don't  care!  I  didn't  go 
out  to  hunt  up  a  love  for  him  and  I  can't  help  it  if  it  has 
come  to  me;  but  I  hope  he  gets  away  to  Mitchell  County 
day  after  to-morrow. " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BOUND    TO    THE    STAKE 

THE  harvesting  dragged  out  to  the  third  day,  and 
Silas,  who  had  a  felon,  could  not  give  help  when 
John  came  to  the  point  of  cutting  his  own  grain. 
It  was  almost  impossible  to  get  help,  for  the  reason  that 
the  dry  weather  had  hastened  the  reaping  of  all  early 
crops.  It  was  decided  that  Elizabeth  should  drive  back 
and  forth  with  the  water,  and  John  take  a  hand  at  the 
shocking.  This  left  Hugh  on  the  machine,  a  thing  John 
disliked  to  do,  but  Hugh  made  no  complaints  and  ac- 
cepted the  post  readily.  Hugh  had  seen  that  he  could 
not  refer  to  his  health  without  endangering  his  chance  of 
getting  away.  John  looked  him  over  critically  as  he 
mounted  the  binder,  realizing  fully  that  he  was  unfit  to 
ride  in  the  hot  sun  all  day. 

"I'll  take  his  place  this  afternoon  if  the  shocking  never 
gets  done, "  was  his  mental  resolve  as  he  turned  to  his  own 
share  of  the  work. 

The  men  had  taken  one  jug  of  water  with  them,  so  that 
it  was  not  necessary  for  Elizabeth  to  go  with  a  fresh  one 
till  ten  o'clock.  She  tied  Patsie  to  the  fence  and,  taking 
Jack  with  her,  crawled  under  and  started  across  the  field 
to  a  point  where  she  could  meet  the  oncoming  binder,  so 

458 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         459 

that  Hugh  could  take  the  heavy  jug  on  the  machine 
around  to  the  other  side  of  the  field  where  the  shockers 
were.  Jack's  short  legs  had  hard  work  in  the  stubble,  and 
she  kept  a  tight  hold  on  him  with  one  hand  while  she 
carried  the  jug  with  the  other. 

Hugh  saw  them  coming  and  called  to  her  to  wait  till  he 
could  come  for  the  jug.  Doctor  Morgan  had  especially 
cautioned  against  heavy  lifting. 

The  new  team  which  John  had  bought  was  hitched  to 
the  pole  of  the  harvester,  and  as  he  drew  them  up,  a  bot- 
fly buzzed  suddenly  about  the  forelegs  of  the  off-wheel 
horse.  The  animal  struck  at  it  angrily  with  its  foot,  giv- 
ing a  shrill  snort.  Its  mate  threw  itself  to  the  other  side, 
rattling  the  double-trees  of  the  leaders  against  their  heels. 
There  was  a  frightened  spring  on  the  part  of  one  of  the 
horses  in  front,  and  at  that  the  wild  and  half-broken 
wheel  horses  began  to  plunge  ahead. 

Thoroughly  frightened,  the  four  horses  became  unman- 
ageable at  once,  and  the  one  nearest  the  revolving  reel 
got  its  tail  over  the  line,  where  it  held  firmly  to  it  as  it 
reared  and  kicked.  Almost  before  it  was  clear  what  had 
happened,  the  horses  were  on  a  full  run  down  the  field, 
with  a  barbed-wire  fence  ahead.  Hugh  could  do  but  one 
thing.  He  circled  them  about  toward  the  outside  of  the 
field  by  the  one  line  he  could  control,  while  he  frantically 
jammed  the  lever  down,  which  threw  the  machine  out  of 
gear,  but  at  the  speed  at  which  the  machine  was  going 
the  lever  would  not  act.  The  one  line  swung  the  horses 
around  in  a  short  circle,  and  as  the  thoroughly  alarmed 


460        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

man  raised  his  head  he  was  horrified  to  find  that  Elizabeth, 
encumbered  with  the  jug,  and  so  thoroughly  frightened 
that  she  held  on  to  it  and  to  Jack's  hand  with  equal  te- 
nacity, was  within  the  radius  of  the  circle. 

The  baby,  the  mother,  and  the  heavy  water-jug  were  in 
the  centre  of  that  narrowing  ring,  and  the  natural  and 
spontaneous  thing  to  do  was  to  run  in  the  direction  away 
from  the  careening  harvester.  They  ran,  but  only  for  a 
few  yards,  for  by  the  time  they  thought  that  they  were 
nearing  a  point  of  safety  at  the  circumference  of  the  circle, 
the  horses  were  nearing  that  point  also,  and  to  attempt  to 
cross  it  was  suicidal. 

"Go  back!"  shouted  Hugh,  his  whole  body  breaking 
into  a  cold  sweat  as  the  woman  and  child  turned  to  run  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

Had  presence  of  mind  been  possible  at  that  moment, 
Elizabeth  could  have  slipped  quickly  behind  the  binder 
and  passed  outside  the  ring  the  charging  animals  were 
making,  but  as  it  was,  she  simply  ran  blindly  back  once 
more  to  another  and  more  dangerous  point  inside  their 
lessening  orbit.  One  more  such  run  and  both  mother  and 
child  would  be  exhausted. 

With  the  cold  sweat  of  terror  breaking  over  him,  Hugh 
Noland  slackened  his  hold  on  the  line  and  flung  himself 
off  the  high  seat  to  run  to  her  assistance.  As  he  jumped, 
the  horses  of  their  own  accord  turned  sharper  yet,  and  the 
bull-wheel,  striking  a  badger  hole,  threw  the  machine 
over  sidewise  and  completely  upside  down.  The  wheel 
horses,  released  by  the  coupling-pin  falling  from  the  main 


THE  GIRL  ALSO   KNELT   AT   HIS   SIDE   RENDERING   SUCH   ASSISTANCE 
AS   WAS   IN    HER   POWER" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         461 

clevis,  kicked  themselves  loose  from  the  other  team  and 
tore  madly  across  the  uncut  grain. 

Elizabeth  Hunter  escaped  death  by  the  overturning  of 
the  heavy  binder,  but  when  she  arrived  at  the  twisted  and 
broken  harvester,  Hugh  Noland  lay  pinned  under  the 
wreckage,  white  and  insensible. 

It  took  but  a  few  moments  for  the  men,  who  had  come 
running  at  the  first  sounds  of  the  commotion,  to  lift  the 
heavy  machinery  from  the  limp  body  and  lay  the  wounded 
man  down  under  the  shade  of  a  large  shock  of  rye.  While 
Luther  bent  to  examine  the  senseless  form,  John  rushed 
one  of  the  men  frantically  off  for  Doctor  Morgan. 

"No!  Wait  —  I'll  go  myself!"  he  called  as  the  man 
was  driving  away,  and  flinging  himself  into  the  buggy, 
which  Elizabeth  had  left  at  the  fence,  laid  the  whip  on  the 
back  of  the  frightened  Patsie. 

It  was  not  till  John  was  halfway  to  Colebyville  that 
Hugh  Noland  opened  his  eyes.  Luther  was  stooping  over 
him,  bathing  his  face  with  water  from  the  jug  which  Eliza- 
beth had  so  unconsciously  provided.  The  girl  also  knelt 
at  his  side  rendering  such  assistance  as  was  in  her  power, 
and  when  Hugh  actually  showed  signs  of  being  alive  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  with  an  abandon 
which  Luther  Hansen  could  not  mistake.  The  hired  men 
had  gone  to  get  the  leaders,  which,  being  reliable  horses, 
had  got  over  their  fright  and  were  nibbling  the  fresh  grass 
by  the  fence.  The  other  team  was  completely  out  of  sight. 
They  covered  Hugh  from  the  scorching  sun  till  the 
men  could  bring  the  wagon  from  the  barn,  and  then 


462         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  sad  little  cavalcade  returned  to  the  house  with  the 
injured  man. 

Doctor  Morgan  arrived  with  John  in  his  own  buggy 
two  hours  later,  and  then  a  strange  thing  was  discovered. 
No  bones  were  broken,  and  no  internal  injuries  were  in 
evidence  which  would  necessarily  give  cause  for  alarm. 
The  examination  pointed  to  an  excited  heart  chiefly,  the 
weakest  link  in  Hugh  Noland's  system  and  the  place  where 
new  troubles  centred  and  aggravated  old  ones.  That  the 
man's  life  had  not  been  instantaneously  crushed  out  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  long  steel  levers  had  stuck  in  the 
hard  earth  and  held  the  machine  up.  But  the  trouble 
with  the  heart  had  been  accentuated  acutely  before  the 
binder  had  even  capsized,  for  that  horrible  nightmare  of 
galloping  down  upon  the  girl  had  evidently  begun  what 
the  later  catastrophe  had  carried  to  a  farther  and  really 
dangerous  stage. 

Hugh  was  placed  in  the  downstairs  bedroom  by  the 
men,  whose  hearts  were  wrung  at  every  step  they  carried 
him,  and,  as  Luther  remarked,  because  Elizabeth  would 
have  the  care  of  him  and  stairs  were  deadly  things  in  case 
of  sickness. 

Doctor  Morgan  came  again  before  night,  intending  to 
stay  with  the  patient  till  morning.  John  met  him  at 
the  gate.  With  the  feeling  that  he  had  been  respon- 
sible for  this  terrible  accident  to  Hugh,  whom  he  loved 
as  he  had  never  loved  any  other  human  being,  John 
had  spent  an  afternoon  of  agony.  The  rest  of  the 
men  could  look  for  a  neighbour  to  finish  the  grain 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         463 

with  another  machine,  but  for  him,  he  spent  the  time  at 
Hugh's  side. 

"How  is  he?"  Doctor  Morgan  asked  almost  before  he 
was  within  speaking  distance. 

"Resting.  We  don't  trouble  him,  but  he  seems 
quiet." 

"That's  good!"  the  old  man  exclaimed.  He  had  come 
with  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  as  they  say  in  that  country. 
"I  wish  I  had  as  good  a  report  for  you,"  he  added. 

"Why  —  what's  happened  to  me?"  John  asked  in 
surprise. 

"The  young  mare  you  drove  in  died  in  the  stable.  It's 
hot  weather,  and  I  guess  you  were  pretty  badly  excited. 
I  told  the  men  in  the  livery  to  shut  the  colt  up;  it  kept 
nosing  around  the  carcass  and  it  isn't  good  for  it.  You'd 
better  get  in  as  early  as  you  can  and  look  after  it  yourself. 
Those  stable  men  don't  care  for  anything  that  ain't  their 
own." 

John  Hunter  stood  speechless  till  the  end  of  the  story, 
and  then  helped  tie  the  doctor's  team. 

"That  all  comes  from  that  miserable  team!  I'm  glad 
one  of  them  did  have  to  be  shot.  I've  half  a  notion  to 
shoot  the  other  one;  it's  all  cut  up  by  the  wire  and  '11  take 
no  end  of  trouble  to  cure.  Hugh  said  horses  and  dogs 
talked  with  their  tails,  and  I  guess  they  do.  Say,  will 
you  tell  Elizabeth  about  the  horse  ?  It's  one  I  got  from 
her  father  and  she's  terribly  fond  of  it. " 

Elizabeth  met  Doctor  Morgan  as  he  came  from  Hugh's 
room  a  few  minutes  later  with  the  unspoken  question  so 


464         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

plainly  evident  in  her  face  that  he  answered  it  without 
waiting  to  be  asked. 

"No  signs  of  further  trouble,  little  woman,  thank  God! 
They  tell  me  you  were  near  being  run  over  by  that  binder 
too." 

Elizabeth  evaded  the  last  remark. 

"That's  nothing.  But  are  you  sure  about  Hugh?"  she 
asked  in  a  voice  that  quavered  a  little. 

"Now  look  here,"  the  doctor  said,  concerned  at  once 
for  her  welfare.  "We  can't  have  you  go  and  get  upset. 
It  looks  as  if  Noland  got  out  of  that  pretty  lucky.  The 
only  thing  that's  worrying  me  is  that  infernal  heart  of 
his." 

John  came  in  at  that  point  and  the  old  doctor  addressed 
himself  to  him. 

"This  woman '11  have  to  take  care  of  Noland,  Hunter, 
and  I  want  you  to  see  to  it  that  she  don't  have  another 
thing  to  do.  She  can't  have  that  child  dragging  on  her, 
and  we'll  have  to  look  out  that  she  don't  overdo,  or  we'll 
have  her  down  our  our  hands  too.  The  trouble  with  peri- 
tonitis is  that  it  don't  get  well  as  fast  as  it  looks  to.  A 
slight  thing  will  often  start  it  up  anew,  and  peritonitis  is 
the  devil  if  it  gets  to  recurring. " 

"We'll  all  help  take  care  of  Hugh,"  John  promised 
readily. 

Doctor  Morgan  looked  at  John  Hunter  and  back  to 
Elizabeth  dubiously.  He  reflected  that  the  same  lack  of 
caution  which  had  killed  the  mare  yesterday  might  kill 
a  man  in  case  of  excitement. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         465 

"It  isn't  necessarily  help  that  she's  going  to  need.  It 
won't  be  so  hard  to  take  care  of  him,  if  she  isn't  worried  by 
a  lot  of  other  things.  I  don't  want  another  soul  to  touch 
that  medicine.  We've  got  to  be  mighty  careful  about  that. 
Heart  remedies  are  poison  and  as  quick  as  lightning  in 
their  action,  and  we  can't  afford  to  take  any  chances 
on  that  kind  of  stuff.  I'm  right  glad  to  put  your  wife  at 
the  helm  in  this  thing;  she's  definite  and  dependable,  two 
things  we  doctors  don't  often  find  when  we  need  them 
most." 

Turning  to  Elizabeth  he  said: 

"It  may  be  rather  hard  on  you,  but  our  main  care  is  to 
pull  this  man  through  the  next  ten  days.  If  he  don't 
have  some  one  to  look  after  him  right,  he  may  slip 
through  our  fingers." 

"Why  —  I  thought  you  said  he  was  all  right,"  Eliza- 
beth faltered. 

In  his  efforts  to  impress  the  need  of  care  with  the  medi- 
cine, Doctor  Morgan  had  gone  over  the  mark  and  added 
to  the  fears  he  had  started  out  to  allay.  Elizabeth  was 
as  white  as  if  all  the  blood  in  her  body  had  been  taken 
away. 

"Now  don't  begin  to  worry  till  I  tell  you  there's  need, 
child,"  he  said  half  irritably.  "All  that's  necessary  is  for 
you  to  look  after  that  medicine.  Noland  '11  come  out  all 
right  with  you  to  nurse  him.  I  wouldn't  mind  being  sick 
myself,  Hunter,  with  her  to  hold  the  spoon, "  he  said,  try- 
ing to  put  a  merry  face  on  the  matter.  "Did  it  ever  occur 
to  you  that  you  were  a  lucky  dog  to  come  into  this  coun- 


466         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

try  and  run  off  with  the  nicest  girl  in  it  the  first  year  you 
were  here?" 

As  the  doctor  drove  home  the  next  morning,  he  said  to 
himself: 

"I  guess  I  fixed  it  about  that  medicine;"  then,  his  mind 
reverting  to  the  conversation  at  the  gate,  he  added,  "I 
wasn't  goin'  to  tell  her  about  that  horse;  let  him  tell  her 
himself.  Blamed  fool!  I  think  I  headed  off  his  issuing 
orders  about  that  sick-bed  too.  Poor  little  girl!  Now  if 
she'd  only  married  Noland!" 

The  old  doctor  gave  a  long,  low  whistle  as  a  sudden 
thought  struck  him,  but  he  put  it  away,  and  being  a  busy 
man  thought  no  more  about  it  for  weeks. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"THERE  ARE  SOME  THINGS  WE  HAVE  TO  SETTLE 
FOR  OURSELVES" 

JOHN'S  being  away  from  nome  those  first  days  of 
Hugh's  illness  —  he  had  gone  to  Colebyville  to 
dispose  of  Patsie's  body  and  secure  a  new  team  to 
finish  harvesting  —  kept  him  from  getting  the  run  of  the 
affairs  of  the  sickroom,  and  enabled  Elizabeth  to  assume 
the  care  of  the  invalid  in  her  own  way.  An  idea  once  fixed 
in  John  Hunter's  head  was  fixed,  and  having  accepted 
the  plan  of  Doctor  Morgan  that  Elizabeth  was  to  be  in 
sole  charge  of  care  and  medicine,  he  went  his  way  without 
thrusting  his  suggestions  upon  her,  and  Elizabeth,  having 
learned  not  to  discuss  things  with  him,  did  not  speak  of 
her  work  nor  of  anything  connected  with  the  invalid.  In 
fact,  as  soon  as  John  entered  the  sickroom  she  went  out, 
as  one  of  the  best  ways  she  knew  of  to  avoid  accidents  of 
conversation.  John  came  to  Hugh's  bedside  but  little, 
supposing  that  he  needed  rest,  and  willing  to  sacrifice  his 
all  to  the  comfort  of  the  pale  invalid.  With  the  tears 
of  a  woman  in  his  heart  if  not  in  his  eyes,  John  watched 
from  afar  the  face  of  the  man  he  had  been  the  unconscious 
means  of  injuring,  and  tiptoed  about  the  outer  rooms  with 
a  fear  of  death  which  only  John  could  feel.  Another  thing 

467 


468         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

kept  him  out  of  the  sickroom:  impressed  with  the  idea 
that  his  carelessness  in  the  purchase  of  the  first  team  had 
led  up  to  this  trouble,  he  had  gone  to  the  other  extreme  in 
replacing  them,  and  had  paid  three  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars  for  one  of  the  best  and  most  thoroughly  proven 
teams  in  the  country.  There  were  no  available  funds  and 
he  had  been  obliged  to  give  a  note  for  them;  this  must  in 
time  come  to  Hugh's  notice,  and  John  had  a  distinct  re- 
membrance of  a  former  note,  and  did  not  wish  to  repeat 
the  experience.  Luther,  who  came  often  to  see  Hugh, 
had  spoken  to  John  of  Patsie's  death  in  Elizabeth's  pres- 
ence, and  after  the  first  pained  expression  of  surprise  and 
grief,  Elizabeth  had  never  mentioned  it  again.  John  had 
noticed  also  that  Elizabeth  had  never  asked  the  price  of 
the  last  team,  nor  seemed  to  take  any  interest  in  them, 
and  he  hoped  by  the  same  means  to  avoid  confessing  to 
Hugh. 

John  Hunter  was  glad  at  this  time  to  escape  discussions 
of  an  unpleasant  nature;  he  was  more  broken  by  the  acci- 
dent than  he  ever  admitted;  he  accused  himself  more 
bitterly  than  any  one  would  ever  accuse  him;  he  had 
broken  up  a  working  team,  he  had  killed  his  best  horse, 
and  he  had  been  all  but  responsible  for  the  death  of  his 
best  friend,  and  when  John  Hunter's  own  misdeeds  h:t 
hard  enough,  he  would  face  things  squarely,  and  no  matter 
how  hard  he  worked  to  avoid  owning  up  to  others,  would 
acknowledge  to  himself  that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  Hugh's 
white  face  grew  whiter  each  day  and  accused  him  enough 
without  further  words.  To  escape  it,  John  worked  busily, 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         469 

and  there  was  need  of  work,  for  the  rapidly  drying  fields 
required  his  entire  attention  during  the  day,  and  he  left 
Hugh  to  his  wife's  care,  glad  to  do  so. 

There  were  times,  however,  when  John  was  alone  with 
Hugh,  and  at  such  times,  because  he  was  full  of  self- 
blame  and  humiliation,  he  listened  to  what  Hugh  said 
with  a  peculiar  attention.  Hugh  saw  that  John  worried 
himself  half  sick  over  his  misfortune,  and  reached  out  the 
hand  of  love  and  fellowship  for  which  John  hungered  at 
this  time.  He  talked  of  his  possible  death  as  if  it  were 
but  a  journey,  which  always  convulsed  John's  face  with 
child-like  emotions.  He  talked  of  the  farm  work,  and 
kept  close  track  of  what  was  done.  He  knew  that  John 
had  had  to  go  into  debt  for  the  team,  and  he  wanted  John 
to  tell  him,  without  being  asked,  that  a  note  had  been 
given.  When  he  did  not,  Hugh  passed  the  matter  over 
without  reference  and  with  a  sigh.  Hugh  Noland  was  not 
criticising  John  Hunter  or  any  of  his  actions  these  days, 
but  Hugh  studied  John  and  found  his  weaknesses,  and 
tried  to  give  him  such  help  as  he  thought  possible.  Hugh 
had  long  days  to  think,  and  he  began  to  yearn  over  this 
man  to  whom  he  had  been  a  sort  of  traitor.  He  saw 
John's  wilfulness  with  Elizabeth  —  heard  many  things 
without  being  able  to  avoid  hearing  them,  being  pinned 
to  his  bed  —  he  saw  where  John's  irritability  lost  good 
help  during  the  busy  season  and  left  double  duty  for 
faithful  Jake,  his  supercilious  attitude  toward  Luther, 
and  his  illy  concealed  contempt  for  the  farmers  about 
them,  and  one  of  his  ways  of  keeping  his  mind  off  John's 


470        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

wife  was  to  keep  it  on  John  and  John's  needs.  Hugh 
kept  Luther  with  him  whenever  Luther  could  be  spared 
from  his  home  in  the  evenings,  and  he  spoke  to  John  of 
Luther  with  growing  affection.  When  he  grew  stronger, 
he  discussed  farm  work  and  farmers  with  John  in  a  way 
that  savoured  of  interest  in  their  problems;  he  asked 
Nathan  and  Silas  and  Carter  and  Bob  Warren  in 
and  talked  to  them  of  fertilizers  and  drainage,  and 
when  John  insisted  that  those  things  were  in  the  future, 
he  said: 

"Yes,  but  they  will  come  up  in  our  time;  you  see  I  come 
from  a  place  where  those  things  were  already  a  necessity 
to  the  farmers.  I  am  a  farmer  myself  now  and  I  think 
about -those  things." 

Hugh  knew  that  his  consideration  of  fertilizers  was 
superfluous  in  a  country  that  was  hardly  past  the  sod- 
corn  stage,  but  he  longed  to  dignify  this  work  to  John 
Hunter,  since  John  would  give  his  formative  years  here 
and  be  unable  to  do  other  things  if  he  ever  made  money 
enough  to  get  away,  as  he  hoped.  Hugh  had  had  enough 
work  in  the  agricultural  department  of  an  eastern  uni- 
versity before  he  had  come  to  Kansas,  to  make  it 
possible  for  him  to  interest  these  men  in  the  future 
development  of  their  state.  Doctor  Morgan,  who  had 
been  rather  unwilling  that  serious  subjects  should  be 
discussed  in  the  sickroom,  asked  curiously  one  day: 

"What  the  devil  do  you  want  to  prate  such  nonsense  as 
that  to  these  folks  for?  They  won't  need  any  kind  of 
fertilizers  in  this  country  for  twenty  years.  You'd  better 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         471 

be  resting  instead  of  shooting  such  useless  stuff  as  that  at 
th*m." 

"I  want  to  talk  farming  to  John  Hunter  as  if  it  were  a 
respectable  business  to  engage  in,  Doctor.  I  don't  have 
to  tell  you  how  he  views  it." 

"What  in  Sam  Hill's  the  difference  how  he  views  it?" 
the  doctor  asked  in  astonishment.  "He's  nothing  but  a 
cheap  skate,  and  you  can't  make  anything  else  out  of 
him." 

Hugh  Noland  looked  at  the  doctor  and  made  no  reply; 
he  understood  that  the  unfortunate  vision  of  John  Hunter 
which  Doctor  Morgan  had  got  would  prevent  him  from 
seeing  the  point  he  was  trying  to  make,  and  so  let  the 
matter  drop,  but  he  kept  John  with  him  evenings  and 
worked  along  on  his  own  lines  and  with  persistence/  He 
wanted  to  feel  right  about  his  stay  in  John's  home,  and 
one  of  the  ways  of  doing  it  was  to  get  close  to  John's 
heart  on  important  matters.  He  spoke  of  Jack  as  a 
future  farmer,  and  when  John  indignantly  resented  the 
implication  and  said  that  he  expected  his  son  to  be  an 
educated  man,  Hugh  replied: 

"Why,  of  course  you  do,  but  an  educated  farmer  is 
exactly  the  thing  to  make  of  him.  Look  at  the  clean  life 
you'd  place  him  in." 

And  so  the  days  ran  on  in  the  sick-chamber.  If  John 
was  with  Hugh,  Elizabeth  busied  herself  about  the  house 
elsewhere,  and  John  rarely  saw  them  together,  unless  there 
was  medicine  to  administer,  and  then  the  girl  gave  it  with- 
out remark.  A  growing  fear  had  taken  possession  of  her 


472         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

lest  John  should  fly  out  at  her  in  unpleasant  fashion  before 
Hugh.  The  situation  between  the  two  had  been  made  so 
much  more  acute  by  Hugh's  accidental  reference  to  it 
when  he  had  thought  that  she  was  crying  about  him,  that 
she  was  supersensitive  regarding  her  half-formed  com- 
plaint in  explanation.  But  for  that  reference,  they  could 
have  gone  along  indefinitely  with  a  pretence  of  indiffer- 
ence, but  enough  had  been  said  to  tear  away  the  veil  and 
leave  them  self-conscious  and  mutually  humiliated.  Their 
little  avoidances  of  touch  or  tenderness  spoke  in  a  lan- 
guage not  to  be  misunderstood,  and  their  eyes  told 
unconsciously  all  that  they  refused  to  say  with  their 
tongues. 

Elizabeth,  in  her  own  way,  worried  herself  half  sick 
in  her  endeavours  to  care  for  him  gently  and  yet  give  him 
no  cause  to  think  she  was  making  a  demand  for  a  love  of 
which  neither  approved,  but  which  having  once  been  put 
into  words  was  a  constant  factor  in  their  association. 
Once  when  she  was  bathing  his  face,  Hugh  thought  she  lin- 
gered longer  over  it  than  was  necessary  and  drew  himself 
back  on  his  pillow  suddenly,  saying: 

"Don't  Elizabeth.  I  should  have  my  arms  about  you 
in  a  minute  if  you  did  that,  and  you  are  John's  wife  —  and 
I  couldn't  look  him  in  the  face  if  I  did  a  thing  of  that 
sort." 

Elizabeth  turned  away  without  replying,  her  eyes  full 
of  tears.  He  had  misunderstood  her  cruelly.  The  one 
thing  Elizabeth  Hunter  was  trying  to  do  was  not  to  show 
her  affection  for  this  man  who  was  not  her  husband,  but 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         473 

as  she  became  worn  and  tired  from  duty  at  the  sick-bed 
it  became  more  and  more  evident  that  she  could  not 
accomplish  it. 

Hugh  had  the  daily  fear  of  her  peritonitis  coming  back 
upon  her;  Doctor  Morgan  had  warned  him  while  John  was 
away.  Unable  to  lift  his  head  from  his  pillow  without 
assistance,  Hugh  saw  her  growing  thin  and  discouraged, 
and  knew  that  it  was  the  enforced  condition  of  caring  for 
him  which  made  her  so;  yet  when  she  tried  to  avoid  his 
sympathetic  eyes,  he  instantly  misunderstood  her  and 
was  hurt.  That  she  was  not  really  strong  enough  to 
assume  the  care  of  him  added  to  his  uneasiness,  and  often 
when  he  was  on  the  point  of  saying  so,  she  mistook  his 
glance  and  was  so  distant  that  it  died  on  his  lips.  And 
so  the  days  ran  into  each  other  with  the  pair.  If  for  any 
reason  one  advanced,  the  other  retreated,  and  at  last  the 
condition  became  unbearable. 

Elizabeth  gave  much  and  consuming  thought  to  the 
issue  brought  about  by  the  fact  that  her  husband,  still 
living  in  the  house  with  her,  had  no  idea  that  she  could  be 
in  love  with  another  man,  even  though  her  husband  no 
longer  loved  her.  Any  sort  of  love-making  was  a  vio- 
lation of  her  marriage  vows,  and  for  her  to  put  love  for 
another  man  into  words  was  to  fall  to  a  level  to  which 
she  had  never  in  her  life  thought  of  doing. 

What  was  she  to  do  ?  John  never  saw  anything  except 
in  the  light  of  his  own  instincts  and  emotions,  and  an  idea 
or  a  prejudice  once  fixed  in  his  mind  could  be  uprooted  by 
nothing;  but  death;  therefore  to  confess  to  him  and  thereby 


474          THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

make  it  possible  to  get  away  from  Hugh  would  prejudice 
him  against  Hugh,  whom  he  would  be  certain  to  think  had 
stolen  something  to  which  he  alone  had  the  right,  and 
against  her  whom  he  felt  that  he  possessed,  and  upon 
whom  he  could  wreak  almost  any  form  of  public  revenge. 
Hugh  had  tried  to  get  away  and  John  had  himself  held 
him,  but  John  would  not  remember  that  nor  listen  to  it  if 
told.  Every  effort  had  been  made  by  Hugh  to  avoid 
Elizabeth  since  he  had  found  out  the  true  situation,  but 
nothing  would  convince  John  of  that.  Had  John  Hunter 
the  right  then,  being  the  kind  of  man  he  was,  to  a  con- 
fession from  her  that  would  confuse  the  whole  issue  and  do 
vital  wrong  to  everybody  concerned,  including  the  baby, 
who  must  suffer  with  the  mother  who  would  be  made  to 
seem  much  worse  than  she  was.  This  Elizabeth  Hunter 
asked  herself  daily,  and  with  the  fear  that  her  conscience 
would  force  her  to  confession  should  she  permit  any 
demonstration  of  affection,  and  to  avoid  any  possibility 
of  it,  she  became  colder  and  colder  in  her  manner  toward 
the  sick  man. 

The  effort  to  keep  off  dangerous  ground  was  disas- 
tous,  for  Hugh  instantly  misunderstood  it,  and  the  gloom 
which  settled  over  him  increased  the  difficulties  with  which 
Elizabeth  had  to  contend.  Doctor  Morgan  saw  that  his 
patient,  who  had  seemed  slightly  better,  fell  back  again, 
and  he  worried  about  his  despondent  condition. 

"Cheer  him  up,  Mrs.  Hunter!  Read  to  him!  Any- 
thing!" he  would  exclaim.  "He's  got  to  have  peace  of 
mind,  or  there's  no  hope  in  the  world  of  his  recovery. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         475 

Something  more  'n  staved-in  ribs  is  keeping  him  down, " 
the  doctor  urged,  not  knowing  that  he  laid  impossible 
burdens  on  shoulders  too  young  to  bear  them. 

The  two  duties,  the  one  to  her  husband  and  the  one  to 
her  patient,  stared  her  in  the  face,  and  she  had  no  one 
with  whom  to  advise  or  consult. 

"I  don't  care!  His  life's  worth  more  than  for  me  to 
approve  of  myself  as  a  wife, "  she  decided  at  last,  and  yet 
when  she  gave  Hugh  his  next  dose  of  medicine  she  was 
colder  and  more  on  her  guard  than  ever. 

Luther  Hansen  came  to  see  Hugh  that  afternoon. 
Elizabeth  received  an  inspiration  when  he  started  away 
and  followed  him  out  of  the  house. 

"Luther,  will  he  die?"  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,  Lizzie, "  Luther  said  quietly,  not  know- 
ing what  to  say  to  such  a  question,  and  too  honest  to 
evade. 

At  the  time  of  the  accident  to  the  binder,  when  Eliza- 
beth knelt,  broken  with  exhaustion  and  terror,  looking  at 
the  man  she  loved  who  lay  under  the  mass  of  machinery 
with  the  colour  of  death  upon  him,  no  one  but  a  blind  man 
could  have  mistaken  the  utter  abandonment  of  her  grief, 
and  certainly  of  all  men  Luther  was  not  blind.  Now  he 
recognized  the  heartache  back  of  Elizabeth's  question  and 
with  an  instinct  to  cheer  was  almost  persuaded  to  answer 
in  the  negative.  In  his  heart  he  thought  Hugh  would 
die.  The  rapidly  failing  strength  of  the  man  indicated 
that  he  would  do  so  unless  something  came  to  buoy 
him  up. 


476         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"I  don't  know,  Lizzie,"  he  added,  as  if  squaring  his 
conscience,  "he  looks  so  weak  and  troubled  like." 

Luther  realized  the  moment  it  was  out  of  his  mouth  that 
he  had  said  the  wrong  thing.  Elizabeth's  lips  grew  white 
and  she  held  her  breath  a  moment  as  if  preparing  to  accept 
what  she  knew  must  be  the  truth. 

"Lizzie,"  asked  Luther  gently,  "would  you  like  to  talk 
to  me  about  it?" 

The  girl's  face  tensed  strangely  and  her  quivering  lips 
refused  to  do  her  bidding  for  a  full  minute,  the  relief  was 
so  great. 

"I  —  I  came  out  for  that,"  she  said  simply  when  she 
could  speak.  "It's  so  good  of  you  to  understand  and 
make  it  easy  for  me.  I'll  walk  over  toward  home  with 
you." 

They  walked  slowly  through  the  barnyard,  across  the 
creek,  and  over  the  pleasant  pasture  land.  Neither  spoke. 
Elizabeth,  now  that  she  had  decided  to  talk  to  Luther 
about  the  circumstances  with  which  she  contended,  could 
not  bring  herself  readily  to  do  so.  Luther  had  always  the 
insight  of  true  wisdom,  which  let  others  gauge  their  own 
inclinations.  When  they  came  to  the  fence  which  was 
the  boundary  line  between  Luther's  and  John  Hunter's 
farms,  they  stopped.  There  was  a  line  of  willow  trees 
running  at  intervals  down  the  fence,  and  Luther  waved  his 
hand  in  the  direction  of  a  shady  spot  beside  them. 

"  Set  down,  Lizzie, "  he  said,  seating  himself  half-facing 
her. 

Elizabeth  Hunter  crumpled  up  on  the  grass  with  her 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        477 

back  against  a  fence  post,  and  thought  while  Luther  got  out 
his  knife  and  looked  for  something  to  whittle. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "You  want  to  — 
and  —  and  I'm  a  safe  person." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  glad  that  he  had  assumed  it,  and 
smoothed  the  path  to  confession. 

"I  know  you're  safe,  Luther.  You're  more  than  that, 
God  bless  you!" 

And  to  this  man  whom  she  had  always  trusted  Eliza- 
beth poured  out  all  her  fears,  her  feelings,  and  her  frantic 
cry  for  help. 

"I've  had  no  one  to  talk  to,  Luther,"  she  ended,  "and 
I  don't  believe  a  human  being  can  go  on  always  and  not 
put  things  into  words." 

They  talked  on  and  on.  Having  started,  she  let  him 
see  the  consuming  struggle  between  right  and  wrong  which 
she  waged  every  day. 

"Doctor  Morgan  says, ' Cheer  him  up !  Cheer  him  up, ' 
and  what  am  I  to  do?"  she  closed  in  desperation. 

Elizabeth  Hunter  had  told  far  more  than  she  supposed. 
She  had  bared  a  yearning,  struggling  heart  to  Luther's 
gaze,  a  soul  seeking  a  right  path  where  there  seemed  no 
sure  road,  nothing  but  confusion. 

Luther  longed  to  help,  but  the  problem  presented  insur- 
mountable difficulties;  to  adopt  a  rigid  code  of  morals  as 
such  was  to  come  out  at  the  end  of  the  journey  with  some- 
thing in  herself  and  society  satisfied,  and  Hugh  Noland's 
life  sacrificed,  as  Doctor  Morgan  had  said;  to  adopt  a 
sympathetic  attitude  would  spare  the  life  of  a  useful  man, 


478         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

but  with  her  code  shattered.  If  only  she  could  take  John 
into  her  confidence  both  might  be  possible. 

"Lizzie,  you  couldn't  tell  Hunter,  could  you?"  Even 
as  he  asked  it  he  knew  it  could  not  be  done. 

"  I  would  tell  John  instantly  if  he  were  like  you, Luther," 
was  her  reply.  "I  think  Hugh  himself  would  have  been 
glad  to.  If  he  could  have  explained,  he  could  have  got 
away.  No  —  John  isn't  the  kind  of  man.  He  wouldn't 
understand,  and  he'd  make  it  a  great  deal  worse  than  it  is 
to  everybody.  He'd  accuse  me  and  spoil  Jack's  life, 
and—" 

The  hopelessness  of  it  left  her  silent  for  a  minute,  and 
then  Doctor  Morgan's  warnings  came  up  to  be  reckoned 
with. 

"The  doctor  says  he'll  die  if  he's  worried,  Luther. 
What  am  I  to  do?"  she  demanded,  wanting  him  to  settle 
the  question  for  her,  and  letting  the  tears  run  unrestrained 
down  her  cheeks. 

Luther  Hansen  looked  at  her  pityingly  and  shook  his 
head. 

"There  are  some  things  we  have  to  settle  for  ourselves, 
Lizzie,  and  this  is  one  of  them  for  you.  I  do  know,"  he 
said  trustfully,  "whatever  you  do  '11  be  right." 

The  interview  was  ended.  Luther  helped  Elizabeth  to 
her  feet,  and  went  away  to  his  own  house  and  waiting 
chores,  leaving  the  question  with  her  —  Elizabeth 
Hunter  —  whose  life  had  been  punctuated  with  interroga- 
tion points. 

Elizabeth  walked  back  slowly,  going  over  every  hint  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         479 

suggestion  to  be  gained  from  Luther's  discussion  of  her 
situation.  Nothing  was  clear  except  that  whatever  her 
decision,  it  must  be  the  nearest  right  of  anything  she  was 
able  to  understand.  She  remembered  as  she  stopped  to 
fasten  the  barnyard  gate  behind  her  that  Luther  had  said 
as  he  left  her: 

"He'll  go  away  as  soon  as  he  is  able,  you  say, 
Lizzie,"  and  she  remembered  the  lingering  tones  of  fond- 
ness in  Luther's  voice  when  Hugh's  name  was  mentioned. 

It  was  not  easy  for  Luther  to  say,  let  him  die,  either. 

Elizabeth  remembered  at  that  point  that  Hugh's  medi- 
cine was  long  overdue,  that  medicine  was  more  important 
just  now  than  any  of  the  questions  with  which  she  had 
been  struggling.  With  a  frightened  little  cry  she  ran  to  the 
house  and  to  the  sick-chamber. 

"Never  mind,  Elizabeth,"  Hugh  said  when  he  saw  her 
shuffling  the  papers  about  in  search  of  the  bottle.  "Jack 
came  in  and  I  had  Hepsie  give  it  to  me.  I've  decided 
that  it  isn't  a  good  plan  to  have  it  there,  and  I'll  keep  it 
under  my  pillow  hereafter." 

"I  —  I  went  out  with  Luther,  Hugh,  and  I  didn't  realize 
that  I  was  gone  so  long.  You've  missed  two  doses!" 
She  noticed  that  Hugh  called  her  by  her  given  name 
altogether  now. 

Hugh  laughed  a  sad  little  laugh. 

"Well,  I've  had  the  one  for  this  hour  at  least.  I  —  I 
tried  to  take  it  alone.  I  guess  I  won't  try  that  again.  It 
stuck  in  my  throat  and  I  got  a  strangling  spell.  I  coughed 
till  —  well,  I  thought  I  was  going  to  get  out  of  taking 


480         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

medicine  altogether.  It's  a  terrible  fear  that  grips  a  fellow 
when  he  gets  something  stuck  in  his  throat  and  knows 
that  he  can't  lift  his  head  off  his  pillow.  It  isn't  so  much 
that  he's  afraid  to  die  —  it's  the  death  struggle  he's  afraid 
of." 

Absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  Hugh  Noland  closed  his 
eyes  and  did  not  see  the  effect  his  words  produced  upon 
Elizabeth.  By  some  sort  of  psychological  process  he  had 
placed  that  death  struggle  before  her  very  eyes.  Hugh, 
all  unconscious  that  he  had  made  any  impression,  uncon- 
scious that  her  attitude  toward  death  differed  from  his 
own,  or  that  his  death  could  mean  much  more  to  her  than 
deliverance  from  the  presence  and  care  of  him,  lay  with 
his  eyes  closed,  thinking  his  own  bitter  thoughts. 

There  was  indeed  enough  in  Hugh  Noland's  appearance 
to  terrify  the  girl  as  he  lay  before  her,  wasted  and  woe- 
begone, his  low  forehead  blue-veined  and  colourless,  his 
hands  blue-veined  and  transparent,  and  all  his  shrunken 
figure  sharply  outlined  under  the  thin  summer  covering  of 
the  bed  with  ghastly  and  suggestive  significance.  In- 
stantly she  wanted  to  go  down  by  his  side  and  with  her 
arms  about  him  give  him  the  sympathy  and  comfort  his 
lonely  heart  craved,  but  because  it  was  so  deliciously 
tempting  she  distrusted  the  impulse  and,  turning  hastily, 
walked  out  of  the  room  and  out  of  the  house,  going  on  a 
run  to  her  refuge  in  the  willows.  But  though  she  agonized 
till  dark  she  found  herself  no  nearer  a  solution  than  before. 

Hugh  felt  the  distance  Elizabeth  maintained  and  also 
the  fact  that  she  was  not  well.  How  he  hated  it  when  she 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         481 

had  to  lift  him  for  his  medicine.  Doctor  Morgan  had 
especially  talked  about  her  lifting  when  she  was  at  first 
convalescing.  His  heart  was  very  bad  that  night. 

About  three  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  Elizabeth  tip- 
toed in  to  see  if  he  slept. 

"I'm  awake,"  he  said  without  opening  his  eyes. 

Always  when  Hugh  did  not  open  his  eyes  Elizabeth  was 
filled  with  premonitions.  He  was  very  pinched  and  wan 
to-day.  With  a  pain  at  her  own  heart,  Elizabeth  brought 
a  fresh  glass  of  water  for  his  medicine.  She  had  to  speak 
to  him  to  get  him  ready  to  take  it  from  her  hand.  Kneel- 
ing, she  put  her  arm  under  the  pillow  to  raise  his  head 
while  he  drank. 

Hugh  fumbled  with  the  little  bottle  as  he  tried  to  return 
the  extra  disks  he  had  accidentally  poured  out  into  his 
hand.  Elizabeth  waited  till  he  had  the  cork  in  place,  with 
her  arm  still  under  the  pillow.  He  turned  his  face  toward 
her  as  he  thrust  the  bottle  back,  and  accidentally  touched 
her  hand  under  his  head.  He  glanced  up  consciously. 
Her  breath,  fresh,  warm,  full  of  the  life  man  adores,  came 
to  him  from  her  parted  lips,  and  to  get  away  from  the 
impulse  to  say  things  he  was  resolved  not  to  say,  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  turned  his  head  feebly. 

A  gasp  of  fright  came  from  the  girl  as  she  saw  the  con- 
tortion of  his  haggard  face. 

"Hugh!"  she  exclaimed. 

The  glass  she  held  fell  from  her  fingers  and  rolled  to  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  scattering  its  contents  abroad  unobserved, 
as  she  threw  her  other  arm  across  him  and  lifted  him  for 


482         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  air  she  supposed  he  needed.  Their  breaths  mingled. 
Human  nature  is  but  human  nature,  man  is  but  man  and 
woman  is  but  woman  in  the  final  analysis :  they  were  in  the 
hands  of  a  fate  stronger  than  either  of  them  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

Elizabeth  struggled  no  more;  right  or  wrong,  it  had 
happened,  and  she  brought  her  rocking  chair  and  with  her 
free  hand  clasped  in  his,  read  and  took  life  as  it  came. 
After  that,  sin  nor  sickness  could  keep  them  from  being 
happy.  If  the  girl  talked  of  the  better  course  of  restoring 
the  old  reserve,  Hugh's  hand  would  reach  out  imploringly: 

"Only  till  I  get  well,  dearest;  I  won't  trouble  your  con- 
science after  that.  I  know  you  don't  feel  right  about  this, 
but  I  can't  go  back  to  a  life  without  any  affection  again 
while  I'm  here,"  and  Elizabeth  always  responded  to  that 
call.  She  reflected  that  even  Luther  could  not  condemn 
her  for  it. 

Yet  when  John  was  in  the  house  or  whenever  she  was 
obliged  to  be  careful  about  Hepsie,  as  she  often  was,  she 
was  outraged  in  her  own  sight,  and  her  colours  trailed  in 
the  dust  of  humiliation,  for  she  saw  that  the  path  she  was 
treading  was  one  of  unaccustomed  duplicity. 

"If  I  could  only  approve  of  myself,"  she  said  to  Hugh, 
and  then  was  sorry  she  had  spoken,  for  Hugh  Noland's 
face  grew  more  white  and  he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  little 
sob. 

"Oh,  my  darling,"  he  said  when  he  could  speak  again, 
"you  long  for  that  and  I  like  you  for  it  too,  but  I'm  weak. 
I  want  to  be  loved  and  petted,  and  —  I'm  so  tired  that  I 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        483 

don't  want  to  think  about  it  at  all.  Kiss  me,  sweet, "  and 
Elizabeth  kissed  him,  and  was  glad  in  spite  of  herself. 

"You  shall  not  have  to  think  till  you're  well,"  she 
promised,  and  the  days  ran  on  throughout  the  blazing 
summer,  and  Hugh  improved,  and  Elizabeth  won  Doctor 
Morgan's  admiration  as  a  nurse. 

In  the  midst  of  the  deceptions  which  Elizabeth  Hunter 
was  called  upon  to  practise,  however,  she  followed  the 
natural  trend  of  her  character  in  ways  which  proved  how 
fundamental  truth  and  outrightness  were  in  her  make-up. 
Having  discussed  Hugh  with  Luther,  she  told  Hugh  that 
she  had  done  so.  This  gave  Hugh  a  wrong  impression  of 
affairs  between  the  two  which  she  was  obliged  to  set  right. 

"No,  Luther  never  loved  me  —  that  is,  he  never  said 
that  he  did.  That  isn't  the  way  we  feel  about  each  other. 
We've  just  been  good  friends  always.  We  herded  cattle 
together  and  told  each  other  things  all  our  lives.  I  could 
tell  Luther  anything. " 

"Well,  he  couldn't  love  that  black-eyed  thing  he  lives 
with,"  Hugh  said. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is  myself,  but  he  does,  and  Luther 
never  lies.  You  can  see  that  he's  square  with  her.  He 
gives  her  a  kind  of  companionship  that  will  keep  her  out  of 
the  position  I'm  in,  too,"  she  said  with  conviction,  and 
then  saw  the  kind  of  blow  that  she  had  dealt,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  for  shame. 

Elizabeth  heard  the  invalid  sigh  deeply.  When  she 
could  speak  again,  she  slid  down  on  her  knees  by  his  bed 
and,  laying  her  arm  across  the  shoulders  of  the  man  she 


484         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

had  hurt,  faced  herself  and  her  deeds  squarely,  as  was  her 
way. 

"It's  of  no  use,  Hugh.  We've  got  to  face  it.  I  didn't 
intend  to  hurt  you,  but  I'm  in  a  serious  position.  I  must 
think  of  this  thing  all  my  life  —  and  I  shall  shrink  when- 
ever I  do.  I  shall  see  everybody  in  the  light  of  my  own 
life.  I  made  no  comparison  between  you  and  Luther. 
There's  love  and  love  in  this  world,  as  I've  found  out. 
John  thought  he  loved  me  and  I  thought  I  loved  him  — 
and  look  at  us!  I  don't  know  what  Luther  would  do  if 
he  were  placed  where  we  are,  but  that  is  not  the  question. 
I  hurt  you  just  now;  but,  oh,  Hugh!  I  love  you  too  — • 
God  help  me,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  I  want  my  self- 
respect  back  till  I  could  almost  die  to  get  it.  Sometimes 
I  think  I'll  go  and  tell  John  yet. " 

When  for  sheer  want  of  breath  Elizabeth  stopped  and 
looked  at  Hugh  Noland  inquiringly,  he  asked  eagerly: 

"Could  we?" 

And  for  a  long  time  she  looked  at  him,  till  her  eyes  took 
on  a  faraway  look  which  said  that  she  was  going  over 
details  and  experiences  of  the  past.  In  the  light  of  those 
experiences  she  finally  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said  with  simple  conviction.  "You  don't 
know  John.  He'd  never  understand  that  -  Well, 

he'd  mix  everything  uselessly.  It  would  fall  hardest  on 
Jack;  his  future  would  be  spoiled  by  the  humiliation  of 
having  everybody  think  I  was  worse  than  I " 

Elizabeth  could  not  finish  her  sentence  for  the  pain  on 
the  face  before  her,  and  hid  her  face  on  the  same  pillow 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        485 

and  cried  out  her  grief  and  heartache  till  Hugh  had  to 
warn  her  that  Hepsie  might  come  in. 

It  was  well  that  Elizabeth's  mind  was  occupied  with 
Hepsie  while  she  bathed  and  cooled  her  swollen  eyelids. 
Long  afterward  she  remembered  Hugh  had  laid  his  arm 
across  his  white  face  at  that  moment,  but  she  was  never 
to  know  the  fulness  of  the  self-reproach  nor  the  depths  of 
the  despair  which  Hugh  Noland  suffered  —  Hugh,  who 
loved  her.  For  himself,  he  did  not  so  much  care,  being 
a  man  and  accustomed  to  the  life  of  men  in  those  things, 
but  he  saw  the  endless  round  of  her  days,  carrying  with  her 
through  them  all  the  secrecy  and  shame  of  it;  she  who  loved 
openness!  If  she  had  been  a  woman  who  looked  herself 
less  squarely  in  the  face  it  would  have  been  less  hard. 

"I  think  I'll  talk  to  Luther  too,"  he  said  at  last. 
"You  couldn't  drive  Patsie  over  for  him  this  evening, 
could  you?"  he  asked. 

Elizabeth  looked  down  at  him  in  surprise  as  she  wiped 
her  hands. 

"Why  —  why,  I  thought  you  knew  about  Patsie,"  she 
said  hesitatingly.  "Patsie's  dead." 

"Dead?" 

"Yes.  She  died  the  night  you  were  hurt.  John  drove 
her  for  Doctor  Morgan,"  the  girl  said,  wishing  that  she 
could  keep  the  news  from  him. 

After  that  first  startled  exclamation  Hugh  did  not 
remark  on  the  mare's  death;  he  noticed  that  Elizabeth 
never  blamed  John  for  things  when  talking  of  him,  and  he 
liked  her  for  it. 


486         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"What  became  of  the  horses  that  day  —  the  ones  on  the 
binder?  You  kept  me  so  stupefied  at  first  that  I  sort  of 
forgot  about  them. " 

He  forced  from  her  all  the  vital  details  of  the  purchase 
of  the  new  horses.  After  he  had  received  the  answers  she 
felt  obliged  to  give  he  did  not  comment  upon  any  feature 
of  the  story.  They  never  criticised  anything  John  did 
between  them;  in  fact,  they  rarely  mentioned  his  name, 
but  Hugh  was  struck  with  the  necessity  of  knowing 
methods  and  facts  regarding  the  business  and  asking  such 
simple  questions  as  he  was  warranted  in  asking.  When 
the  discussion  was  finished  he  asked  again  for  Luther,  and 
she  promised  to  get  him  as  soon  as  possible. 

Hugh  Noland  had  a  long  afternoon  to  think  out  the 
situation  into  which  he  had  thrust  Elizabeth,  for  when 
Elizabeth  arrived  at  Luther's  house  he  had  gone  to  town 
and  the  sun  was  so  hot  that  she  rested  before  starting 
home.  Hugh  was  only  disturbed  by  Hepsie,  who  came 
once  an  hour  to  give  him  the  drink  necessary  when 
medicine  time  came  around.  It  was  lonesome  with  Eliz- 
abeth away,  but  it  let  him  think  more  clearly.  Hugh  saw 
that  he  had  entangled  Elizabeth  in  a  life  which  contained 
something  altogether  extraneous  to  her  whole  character. 
Because  she  was  perfectly  open,  the  greater  would  be  the 
damage  which  must  result  to  her  if  this  life  went  on. 
One  wild  moment  of  hope  had  been  granted  him  when 
they  had  discussed  the  possibility  of  telling  John.  How 
well  Hugh  remembered  the  searching  thought  Elizabeth 
had  given  his  question  before  she  had  shaken  her  head. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         487 

The  time  taken  to  think  soberly  of  confession  told  more 
plainly  than  all  her  words  how  much  she  desired  it.  The 
one  thing  in  life  which  Elizabeth  most  disliked  was 
duplicity,  and  yet  so  long  as  he  remained  an  invalid 
their  relations  would  be  kept  up.  For  this  alone  he 
would  have  been  glad  to  crawl  on  his  knees  to  Coleby- 
ville,  though  he  died  on  the  way.  Something  must  be 
done  to  free  the  girl  and  put  her  back  into  a  life  of  which 
she  could  approve.  With  self-respect  restored,  Elizabeth 
was  the  kind  of  woman  who  would  take  hold  of  the  merely 
unpleasant  features  of  her  life,  and  in  time  find  a  way  of 
overcoming  them.  A  plan  began  to  formulate  in  Hugh 
Noland's  head. 

The  next  morning  Hepsie  came  and  asked  for  a  few  days 
off  to  get  some  needed  sewing  done.  With  Hugh's  illness 
and  the  extra  work  of  it  she  had  let  her  own  work  drag  till 
she  felt  that  she  could  neglect  it  no  longer.  Elizabeth  let 
her  go,  thinking  guiltily  that  there  would  be  less  danger  of 
the  discovery  she  seemed  to  be  ever  fearing  these  days. 
How  they  had  gone  so  long  without  it  she  could  not  under- 
stand. To  get  her  dinner  dishes  out  of  the  way  early  she 
put  Jack  to  sleep  immediately  after  they  were  through 
eating  and  then  hurried  the  dishes  so  as  to  get  in  a  long 
afternoon's  reading.  The  dishes  took  a  long  time  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  to  hurry.  When  at  last  she  did  finish  she 
hastened  to  the  bedroom  with  a  glass  of  water  in  her  hand. 
Hugh  had  been  thinking  seriously  and  was  worn  out  with 
the  tangle  of  wrongdoing  in  which  he  found  himself, 
the  solution  of  which  involved  such  unsatisfactory 


488         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

changes,  and  now  just  weakly  wanted  to  be  loved.  He 
did  not  speak,  but  after  the  tablet  was  swallowed  invited 
a  kiss  by  a  glance  of  the  eye,  and  when  it  was  given,  drew 
her  head  down  on  his  breast  and  lay  patting  it. 

Jack  had  wakened  and  toddled  into  the  room  on  his 
sleepy  little  legs.  The  child  staggered  over  to  his  mother 
and  laid  his  head  against  her  arm,  murmuring  sleepily: 

"Love  oo  too!" 

Elizabeth  Hunter  sprang  to  her  feet  as  if  a  clap  of  thun- 
der had  unexpectedly  sent  its  report  through  the  hot 
afternoon  air.  Her  guilty  eyes  sought  Hugh's.  Jack  en- 
circled her  knees  with  his  fat  little  arms  and,  standing 
on  his  tiptoes  to  be  taken,  repeated: 

"Love  oo  too!" 

There  was  a  noise  at  the  well  and  Elizabeth,  glad  of  a 
chance  to  escape  from  the  room,  went  out.  John  was 
pumping  water  over  a  jug  to  cool  it  before  he  filled  it. 
The  sight  of  the  man  who  was  her  husband  had  a  curious 
effect  on  Elizabeth;  everything  in  her,  mentally  and 
physically,  became  chaotic,  her  ears  buzzed,  her  temples 
throbbed,  and  there  was  an  inner  shrinking  which  could 
scarcely  be  controlled.  John  had  seen  her  and  waited  for 
her  to  come  out  to  the  well. 

When  the  jug  was  full,  John  leaned  forward  to  kiss  Jack 
and  a  sick  sort  of  fear  took  hold  of  her  lest  he  would  offer 
to  kiss  her  also.  His  breath  fell  hot  on  her  neck  as  he 
sought  Jack's  face  on  her  shoulder,  but  he  did  not  offer  to 
kiss  her,  and  she  turned  away  with  an  unspeakable  relief. 

"Take  Jack  and  I'll  carry  the  jug  out  to  the  boys 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         489 

while  you  have  a  chat  with  Hugh,"  Elizabeth  said  sud- 
denly. 

John  was  very  tired,  the  field  where  they  had  been 
cutting  shock  corn  was  very  hot,  and  the  house  looked 
cool  and  inviting. 

"Well,  I  guess  I  will." 

The  jug  was  heavier  than  Elizabeth  had  thought  and 
she  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  way,  observing  as  she  did  so 
that  Doctor  Morgan  was  driving  into  the  lane. 

"  I  am  not  absolved  from  blame  because  he  scolds, "  she 
told  herself. 

As  she  thought  of  her  duties  in  life,  Jack's  affectionate 
little  speech  of  half  an  hour  ago  came  to  mind.  Aye! 
there  was  the  crux  of  the  whole  difficulty.  She  was  Jack's 
mother!  A  line  of  Emerson's  which  she  had  read  with 
Hugh  once  came  to  her  mind:  "In  my  dealings  with  my 
child,  my  Latin  and  my  Greek,  my  accomplishments  and 
my  money,  stead  me  nothing.  They  are  all  lost  upon  him : 
but  as  much  soul  as  I  have  avails. "  Her  whole  mind  was 
taken  up  with  the  quotation  as  soon  as  it  came  before 
her. 

"As  much  soul  as  I  have  avails!"  Over  and  over  she 
repeated  it,  and  when  she  at  last  saw  John  bearing  down 
upon  her  she  got  up  guiltily  and  waited  instead  of  going 
on  with  the  jug  alone. 

"Was  it  too  heavy?"  he  asked.  "I'll  take  it  over  and 
come  back  for  you.  Doctor  Morgan  wants  to  see  you. 
I'll  come  back;  it's  too  hot  for  me;  I'm  going  to  rest." 

The  cool  house  had  appealed  to  John  Hunter. 


490         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

At  the  house  Hugh  Noland  was  asking  searching  ques- 
tions of  the  old  doctor. 

"When  do  you  intend  to  let  me  get  out  of  here, Doctor?" 
he  asked. 

"Out  of  here?"  the  doctor  exclaimed.  "Not  till  you're 
well  enough.  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  'out  of  here?'" 
he  asked  in  return. 

"Just  what  I  said.  When  will  I  be  well  enough  to  go 
to  Mitchell  County?" 

There  was  an  intensity  about  it  which  caught  the  doc- 
tor's attention. 

"Now  look  here,  Noland,  you  won't  go  to  Mitchell 
County  for  a  year  with  such  a  heart  as  that  —  it's  too  far 
from  your  friends,  my  boy.  Be  good  and  don't  you  get 
to  worrying.  You've  got  to  stand  it.  Be  a  man. " 

Had  Doctor  Morgan  shown  any  tenderness  Hugh 
Noland  would  have  told  him  the  real  reason  for  wanting 
to  get  away,  but  something  in  the  banter  of  being  admon- 
ished to  be  a  man  took  away  the  thing  which  made  it 
possible. 

"Then  can't  I  be  taken  into  town?"  Hugh  asked  when 
he  had  had  time  to  swallow  the  bitter  pill. 

" Into  town?  Now?  Well,  not  that  anybody  knows  of 
at  this  time.  Now  look  here,  you've  got  a  splendid  place 
to  stay;  why  can't  you  be  sensible  and  lay  here  and  get 
well  ?  You  worry  till  I  might  as  well  go  and  turn  this  medi- 
cine down  the  gullet  of  one  of  Hunter's  pigs.  Be  a  man, " 
he  repeated,  hoping  to  whip  the  discouraged  patient  into 
line  with  good  sense. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         491 

"It  isn't  a  case  of  being  a  man,  when  a  Woman's  got  to 
take  care  of  you  that  had  better  be  taking  care  of  herself," 
Hugh  said  bitterly. 

"Is  Mrs.  Hunter  getting  down  on  our  hands  too? 
That  won't  do.  I'm  glad  we  sent  for  her. " 

Hugh  Noland  knew  that  he  had  played  his  last  card, 
and  he  knew  that  he  had  lost.  Elizabeth  walked  in  at 
that  moment,  followed  by  John.  Doctor  Morgan  ad- 
dressed himself  to  her,  taking  her  aside  while  they  talked. 

"All  moonshine,  Noland,  old  boy,"  he  exclaimed  when 
he  followed  Elizabeth  back  to  the  sickroom  a  few  minutes 
later.  "This  girl's  as  sound  as  a  dollar.  Noland's  been 
thinking  he's  too  much  trouble,  Mrs.  Hunter." 

Doctor  Morgan  saw  Hugh  Noland's  colour  die  out,  and 
dropped  his  finger  on  the  patient's  wrist  apprehensively. 
Neither  spoke.  To  change  the  subject,  and  also  to  get  a 
chance  to  observe  the  sick  man  under  less  conscious  cir- 
cumstances, Doctor  Morgan  addressed  John: 

"By  the  way,  Hunter,  that  man  you  bought  the  team 
of  got  in  a  pinch  and  asked  me  to  shave  the  note  for  him. 
It's  all  right,  is  it?" 

A  sort  of  electric  thrill  ran  from  each  to  all  in  the  room. 
Doctor  Morgan  understood  that  he  had  unwittingly 
opened  Pandora's  box;  Hugh  gave  no  sign,  but  though 
John  answered  promptly  and  positively  in  the  one  word, 
"Surely,"  a  warning  was  somehow  conveyed  to  John  that 
this  was  more  than  a  merely  unfortunate  moment.  He 
had  been  uncomfortable  about  the  note,  and  under 
ordinary  circumstances  would  have  been  glad  to  have  the 


492         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

first  knowledge  of  it  come  to  Hugh  in  the  presence  of  a 
third  party,  but  now,  by  some  indefinable  thing  which  was 
neither  sight  nor  sound,  he  knew  that  the  news  was  not 
news  to  Hugh,  and  by  the  same  intangible,  vague  thing, 
by  some  prophetic  premonition,  John  knew  that  this  mat- 
ter of  the  note  was  a  disaster. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  finally  broken  by  Hugh. 

"Will  you  be  going  home  by  Hansen's  to-night,  Doc- 
tor?" 

"I  can  as  well  as  any  other  way,"  the  doctor  said,  glad 
to  hear  voices  again. 

"Will  you  ask  Hansen  to  come  over  in  the  morning, 
then?"  Hugh  asked. 

Both  Doctor  Morgan  and  John  Hunter  looked  over 
at  Hugh  sharply,  wondering  what  he  could  want  of 
Luther,  but  the  sick  man  closed  his  eyes  as  a  way  of 
ending  the  argument.  Doctor  Morgan  dropped  his 
finger  on  the  patient's  wrist  again  and  looked  at  John 
warningly: 

"  I  think  I'll  be  going.  You  stay  with  Noland,  Hunter. 
I  want  a  word  with  Mrs.  Hunter  before  I  go.  I'll  stop  at 
Hansen's,  Noland." 

Doctor  Morgan  took  Elizabeth  out  and  questioned  her 
closely  about  the  diet  and  other  important  matters,  but 
was  able  to  elicit  nothing  new. 

"I've  been  encouraged  of  late,"  the  old  doctor  said, 
shaking  his  head,  "but  here  he  is  as  bad  as  ever  — •  that  is, 
as  discouraged  and  restless.  Have  you  been  reading  to 
him  lately?  What's  on  his  nerves,  anyhow?" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         493 

When  the  doctor  could  get  no  additional  information 
regarding  Hugh's  condition  from  Elizabeth,  he  gave  it  up 
and  turned  his  attention  to  the  girl  herself. 

"I  told  him  you  were  as  fine  as  a  dollar,  but  I'm  not 
sure  about  you.  I'm  going  to  bring  you  a  tonic  to-morrow. 
I'll  be  out  in  the  morning,  early,  and  I'll  try  and  see  him 
to-morrow  night  late.  I  don't  like  the  way  he  looked  to- 
night. Say,  you  don't  know  what  he  wants  of  Hansen  do 
you?" 

"No.  He  asked  me  to  go  over  yesterday  afternoon 
after  him,  but  Luther  wasn't  there  and  hasn't  come  in 
since.  It's  a  busy  time  and  he  probably  thought  very 
little  of  it.  Hugh  often  sends  for  him.  Do  you  think  he's 
worse,  Doctor?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"No,  not  specially,"  the  old  doctor  answered  gruffly,  as 
he  turned  toward  Luther  Hansen's  house.  He  was  a  bit 
annoyed  because  he  thought  Hugh  showed  too  little  back- 
bone, as  he  termed  it. 

John  Hunter  sat  long  beside  the  invalid,  cut  to  the 
quick  by  the  languid  air  and  shrunken  frame.  He  wanted 
to  talk  about  the  note  now  that  it  was  not  a  secret,  but 
Hugh  lay  absolutely  silent  and  did  not  open  his  eyes  until 
the  lamp  was  brought  in.  At  that  he  shifted  uneasily 
and  asked  that  it  be  kept  in  the  other  room  till  needed  at 
medicine  time.  John  finally  gave  it  up  and  went  softly 
out,  convinced  that  Hugh  wanted  rest  and  quiet.  John 
was  broken  in  many  ways  by  the  continued  illness  for 
which  he  felt  himself  responsible,  and  had  particularly 
wanted  a  chance  to  talk  to-night. 


494         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

When  all  had  gone  to  bed  but  Elizabeth,  Hugh  called  her 
to  him. 

Elizabeth  answered  the  call,  but  stood  at  a  distance 
from  the  bed.  It  had  come.  Hugh  had  always  known 
it  would,  but  now  that  it  was  here  it  was  hard  to  face. 

"You  mean  it,  I  know  you  do,  Elizabeth, "  he  said.  "  I 
want  you  to  do  it,  but  —  O  God!  how  hard  it's  going 
to  be!" 

He  held  out  his  empty  arms  to  her  for  a  last  embrace. 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head. 

"Now's  the  time  to  begin,  Hugh.  'Too,'  Jack  says. 
That  tells  the  whole  story.  I  shall  pollute  his  life  also.  I 
shall  stand,  not  for  what  I  think  I  am,  but  for  what  I  am, 
in  that  child's  sight.  I  reasoned  it  out  when  you  were  so 
ill,  and  I  thought  this  was  justifiable,  and  oh,  Hugh!  I've 
dragged  myself  down  in  my  own  sight  and  I've  dragged 
you  down  with  me.  It  isn't  enough  for  me  to  seem  to  be 
right,  I've  got  to  be  right, "  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  and  with 
added  shame  because  she  had  to  keep  her  voice  from 
John's  ears  —  John  who  slept  upstairs  and  trusted  them. 

"It  would  be  easier  for  you,  Elizabeth,  if  I  were  not 
here,"  Hugh  Noland  said  sadly.  "You  could  kill  it  out 
alone." 

"But  I  am  not  alone.  You  are  here,  and  have  got  to 
help  me.  Tell  me  that  you  will  —  at  any  cost, "  she 
leaned  forward,  and  in  her  eagerness  raised  her  voice  till 
he  pointed  upward  warningly. 

When  she  had  given  his  medicine  without  a  touch  of 
tenderness,  he  said  to  her: 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         495 

"You  have  bid  my  soul  forth.  I  will  give  you  that 
help,  at  any  cost. " 

He  made  the  last  sentence  stand  out,  but  in  her  earnest- 
ness she  did  not  notice  it  or  think  of  it  again  till  it  was 
significant.  She  went  back  to  her  bed  on  the  sitting-room 
couch  and  to  the  broken  rest  allowed  to  those  who  watch 
with  the  sick. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"AT  ANY  COST" 

THE  old  doctor  delivered  the  message  to  Luther, 
and  the  next  morning  he  appeared  at  the  sick- 
room door. 

While  he  was  talking  to  Hugh,  Nathan  Hornby  came 
and  was  called  into  the  sickroom  also.  Elizabeth  was  too 
busy  with  her  own  work  to  think  much  about  this 
visit,  and  before  it  was  finished  Doctor  Morgan  was 
with  her  questioning  her  about  the  night  spent  by  her 
patient. 

Nathan  came  to  the  kitchen  while  they  were  talking. 

"I  think  I'll  take  that  youngster  home  with  me  if  you're 
goin'  t'  be  alone  t'  day,"  he  announced. 

Doctor  Morgan  looked  relieved. 

"That's  about  the  kindest  thing  you  could  do  for  this 
girl,"  he  said.  "Noland  isn't  as  well  as  I'd  like  to  have 
him,  and  she's  up  every  hour  in  the  night.  It  takes  a 
hired  girl  to  run  off  at  a  time  like  this. " 

Elizabeth  defended  Hepsie  at  once.  "Hepsie's  pure 
gold.  She  waited  a  long  time  for  Hugh  to  get  well. 
Please,  Doctor,  don't  make  any  such  remark  as  that  out- 
side of  this  house  or  some  one'll  tell  her  I  said  it.  Really, 
she's  the  best  help  a  woman  ever  had.  She'll  come  back 

496 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         497 

the  first  of  next  week.  She  said  she'd  come  back  any  day 
I'd  send  for  her.  She'd  do  anything  for  me. " 

"I  guess  you're  right,  little  woman,"  Doctor  Morgan 
laughed.  "I  wish  all  the  same  that  you  had  some  one 
with  you  so  that  you  could  stay  right  with  that  boy. " 

All  through,  the  forenoon  Elizabeth  kept  out  of  the 
sickroom  except  when  the  medicine  was  due,  and  then  got 
away  as  fast  as  she  could,  though  it  was  not  easy  to  do 
so,  for  Doctor  Morgan  had  urged  her  to  entertain  the  in- 
valid and  keep  him  cheered  up,  letting  her  see  that  he  was 
more  than  usually  worried.  She  meant  to  live  up  to  her 
resolutions,  but  in  the  afternoon  Hugh  was  so  quiet  that 
it  seemed  ominous  and  began  to  worry  her. 

"Oh,  Hugh!  how  can  I  do  right  if  you  take  it  this  way?" 
she  cried  in  despair,  and  would  have  stroked  his  hair  if  he 
had  not  shrunk  from  her  hand. 

"Don't,  Elizabeth.  You  have  asked  for  help.  I  have 
to  give  it  in  my  own  way.  I  have  done  harm  enough  to 
your  life.  Make  it  as  easy  for  me  as  you  can,  for  I'm  only 
a  man  and  —  well,  I've  promised  to  help  you  —  at  any 
cost.  You've  nothing  to  worry  about.  I'm  no  worse 
than  I've  been,"  he  ended  in  a  whisper,  and  closed  his 
eyes,  as  was  his  way  when  he  did  not  want  to  talk. 

The  girl  tiptoed  out,  and  left  him  to  his  thoughts.  Her 
own  were  anything  but  satisfactory.  He  was  more  wan 
and  tragic  than  ever  before,  and  Doctor  Morgan  had 
especially  cautioned  her.  She  worked  in  the  kitchen  most 
of  the  evening,  keeping  out  of  his  presence,  and  so  the 
long,  hard,  unsatisfactory  day  passed,  was  recorded  in  the 


498         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

annals  of  time,  and  forever  gone  from  the  opportunity  to 
alter  or  change  its  record. 

Luther  Hansen  came  in  after  dark.  Elizabeth  an- 
swered his  knock. 

"Alone?"  he  asked  in  astonishment  when  he  entered  the 
sitting  room. 

"Yes.  Mr.  Chamberlain  wanted  John  to  bring  the  men 
over  and  load  hogs  for  him.  It's  been  too  hot  to  take 
them  to  town  in  the  daytime.  Hugh's  asleep,  I  think," 
she  said  in  a  low  tone.  "I  didn't  take  a  light  in,  because 
he  likes  to  be  in  the  dark,  but  I  spoke  to  him  two  or  three 
times  and  he  didn't  answer.  Are  you  in  a  hurry?  I  hate 
to  waken  him." 

Doctor  Morgan  came  as  they  talked.  He  stopped  to 
look  Elizabeth  over  before  going  to  the  sickroom,  and 
then  took  the  lamp  she  handed  him  and,  followed  by 
Luther,  left  Elizabeth  standing  in  the  dining  room. 
She  heard  the  doctor's  sharp  order,  "Take  this  light, 
Hansen,"  and  ran  to  help. 

The  horror,  the  anguish,  the  regret  of  that  hour  are 
best  left  untold.  The  number  of  disks  gone  from  the 
bottle  under  the  pillow  gave  the  doctor  his  clue.  One 
final  effort  must  have  been  made  by  the  desperate  invalid 
to  secure  for  himself  the  drink  which  would  wash  them 
down  without  the  dreaded  coughing  spell. 

The  old  doctor,  who  loved  them  both,  and  Luther 
Hansen  also,  witnessed  Elizabeth's  despair,  and  listened  to 
her  story.  As  Luther  had  said  a  few  weeks  before,  he  was 
a  safe  person,  and  her  secret  remained  a  secret.  Luther 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         499 

led  her  away  into  the  night  and  sat  silently  by  while  her 
grief  spent  itself  in  tears;  it  was  a  necessary  stage.  When 
John  and  the  men  came,  he  led  her  back,  and  himself  met 
them  at  the  gate  to  explain. 

The  morning  and  the  evening  were  the  first  day;  the 
comings  and  goings  of  the  inquisitive  and  the  sympathetic 
were  alike  unremarked  by  Elizabeth.  Only  for  that  first 
hour  did  her  grief  run  to  tears;  it  was  beyond  tears.  At 
the  coroner's  inquest  she  answered  penetrating  questions 
as  if  they  related  to  the  affairs  of  others,  and  when  at  last 
the  weary  body,  whose  spirit  had  been  strong  enough  to 
lay  it  aside,  had  been  buried  on  the  bare  hillside,  the 
neighbours  and  those  who  came  to  the  funeral  from  curiosity 
agreed  that  Elizabeth  Hunter  could  stand  anything.  So 
little  evidence  of  emotion  had  she  given  that  Mrs.  Crane 
remarked  to  Mrs.  Farnshaw  as  they  rode  home  together: 

"I  declare,  Lizzie's  th'  coolest  hand  I  ever  met.  She 
couldn't  'a'  liked  Mr.  Noland  very  much.  She  wasn't 
near  as  broke  up  as  Mr.  Hunter  was,  an'  when  I  asked  her 
if  she  wouldn't  feel  kind  of  spooky  in  that  house  after  such 
a  thing,  she  just  looked  at  me,  funny-like,  an'  says  'Why?' 
an'  didn't  seem  t'  care  a  bit." 

Doctor  Morgan  drove  home  from  the  graveyard  with 
the  family. 

"I  suppose  you  know,  Hunter,  that  there's  a  will,"  he 
said  before  he  helped  Elizabeth  into  the  buggy. 

"No!     Who's  got  it?"  John  exclaimed. 

"He  gave  it  to  me,  with  a  note  asking  me  not  to  read  it 
till  after  he  was  buried,  if  he  should  die." 


500         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

John  and  Elizabeth  followed  the  doctor's  rig  home 
across  the  long  stretch  of  prairie. 

"Did  you  know  that  Hugh  left  a  will?"  John  Hunter 
asked  Elizabeth,  after  driving  a  long  time  in  silence. 

"Luther  told  me  last  night.  I  didn't  think  much  about 
it  and  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  Elizabeth  returned  briefly, 
and  fell  back  into  her  own  sad  thoughts  again. 

John  Hunter  looked  at  his  wife  in  surprise. 

"Luther!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  indifferently,  not  looking  up,  and 
unaware  that  John  was  regarding  her  with  a  surprise 
which  amounted  almost  to  suspicion. 

John  let  the  subject  drop,  but  as  they  rode  home  he  had 
an  uncomfortable  sense  of  unpleasant  things  to  come: 
first  of  all  why  had  the  presence  of  the  will  been  concealed 
from  him,  Hugh  Noland's  partner  and  closest  friend? 
secondly,  why  had  Luther  Hansen  been  told?  thirdly, 
why  had  Elizabeth  declined  just  now  to  discuss  it  with 
him  after  knowing  about  it  for  some  time  ?  He  could  not 
put  his  finger  on  the  exact  trouble,  but  John  Hunter  was 
affronted. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Elizabeth  had  only 
heard  of  the  will  the  night  before,  and  had  been  too 
stunned  by  other  things  to  care  much  about  it.  If  she 
had  thought  about  it  at  all  she  would  have  supposed  that 
John  had  been  told  also,  but  Elizabeth  had  been  occupied 
with  troubles  quite  aside  from  material  things,  and  now  did 
not  talk  because  she  was  concerned  with  certain  sad  aspects 
of  the  past  and  almost  as  sad  forebodings  for  the  future. 


"You  better  come  in  too,  Hansen,"  Doctor  Morgan 
said  to  Luther,  when  they  arrived  at  the  Hunter  house. 

Sadie  had  stayed  with  Hepsie  at  the  house,  and  Luther 
had  expected  to  take  her  and  go  straight  home.  The  two 
women  had  been  busy  in  the  three  hours  since  the  body 
of  Hugh  Noland  had  been  taken  from  the  house.  The 
mattress  which  had  been  put  out  in  the  hot  sun  for  two 
days  had  been  brought  in,  and  order  had  been  restored  to 
the  death  chamber.  There  was  a  dinner  ready  for  the 
party  of  sorrowing  friends  who  had  loved  the  man  that 
had  been  laid  to  his  final  rest,  and  it  was  not  till  after  it 
was  eaten  that  the  subject  of  the  will  was  mentioned  again. 

They  sat  about  the  table  and  listened  to  Doctor  Mor- 
gan's remarks  and  the  reading  of  the  important  document. 

"I  have,"  Doctor  Morgan  began,  "a  letter  from  Mr. 
Noland  written  the  day  before  his  death,  in  which  he  tells 
me  that  he  has  made  a  will  of  which  I  am  to  be  made  the 
sole  executor.  In  that  letter  he  enclosed  another  sealed 
one  on  which  he  had  written  instructions  that  it  was  not  to 
be  opened  till  after  his  death.  I  opened  the  latter  this 
morning,  and  in  it  he  states  frankly  that  he  has  decided  to 
voluntarily  leave  his  slowly  dissolving  body,  and  spare 
further  pain  to  those  he  loves.  Perhaps  —  perhaps  I 
could  have  helped  him,  if  I'd  known.  I  can't  tell, "  the 
old  doctor  said  brokenly.  "He  asked  me  to  do  something 
for  him  that  I  guess  I  ought  to  have  done,  but  I  thought  he 
was  all  right  as  he  was,  and  I  wouldn't  do  it.  However, 
he  asked  me  as  his  executor  to  see  to  it  that  every  pro- 
vision of  this  will,  which  I  have  never  seen,  be  carried  out 


502         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

to  the  letter.  Hansen,  here,  is  one  of  the  witnesses  he  tells 
me,  and  Hornby  is  the  other.  It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to 
say  that  I  shall  have  to  carry  out  these  instructions  as  I 
have  been  commanded  to  do." 

Turning  to  John,  he  added: 

"I  hope,  Hunter,  that  there's  nothing  in  this  that  will 
work  any  inconvenience  to  you,  and  I  hardly  think  it  will." 

John  Hunter  sat  through  the  opening  of  the  envelope 
and  the  rapid  survey  which  Doctor  Morgan  gave  its  con- 
tents before  he  began  to  read,  stirred  by  varying  emotions. 
Suspicion  crawled  through  his  brain,  leaving  her  slimy 
trail;  why  had  there  been  need  of  secrecy?  Why  had  all 
these  people  been  told,  and  he,  John  Hunter  alone,  left 
out?  Nathan  Hornby  and  Luther  Hansen  witnesses! 
But  most  of  all,  as  was  to  be  expected,  his  suspicions  were 
directed  toward  Elizabeth.  She  had  known  —  she  prob- 
ably knew  from  the  beginning.  She  was  in  the  conspir- 
acy. Of  the  fact  of  a  conspiracy  John  Hunter  felt  certain 
when  Doctor  Morgan  cleared  his  throat  and  began  to 
read: 


HUNTER'S  FARM, 
COLEBYVILLE,  KANSAS, 

August  22,  18 

Know  all  men  by  these  presents  that  I,  Hugh  Noland,  being  of  sound  mind  and 
memory,  not  acting  under  duress,  menace,  fraud,  or  undue  influence  of  any  person  what- 
soever, do  make,  publish,  and  declare  this  my  last  will  and  testament. 

First,  I  order  and  direct  that  all  my  just  debts  be  paid  by  my  executor,  hereinafter 
named. 

Second,  I  expressly  provide,  order,  and  direct  that  all  my  estate,  consisting  of  one 
half  of  the  lands  and  chattels  of  the  firm  of ''  Hunter  and  Noland  "  shall  be  settled  by  my 
executor,  hereinafter  named,  without  the  intervention  of  the  courts,  and  given,  whole 
and  entire,  to  Elizabeth  Hunter,  and  to  her  heirs  and  assigns  forever,  and  that  the 
division  be  a  legal  division,  so  arranged  that  all  deeds  to  the  land  and  all  rights  to  the 
personal  property  shall  be  legally  hers. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         503 

This  I  do  as  an  inadequate  return  for  all  she  has  done  and  tried  to  do  for  me. 

Lastly,  I  hereby  nominate  and  appoint  George  W.  Morgan,  M.  D.,  sole  executor  of 

this  my  last  will  and  testament,  to  serve  without  bonds  or  the  intervention  of  any  court. 

In  testimony  whereof  I  hereunto  set  my  hand  and  seal,  and  publish  and  declare  this 

my  last  will  and  testament,  on  this  twenty-second  day  of  August,  in  the  year  of  our 

Lord  18 

Signed,  HUGH  NOLAND. 

Witnesses: 
LUTHER  HANSEK, 
NATHAN  HORNBY. 


There  was  a  pause.  Surprise  held  every  person  present, 
for  the  witnesses  had  seen  only  their  signatures  up  to  now, 
not  the  will,  and  Doctor  Morgan  was  no  less  astonished 
than  the  rest.  At  last  he  reached  his  hand  across  the 
table  to  Elizabeth  saying: 

"It's  an  instrument  that  I  shall  get  some  pleasure  at 
least  from  administering,  Mrs.  Hunter.  You  deserve  it. 
I'm  glad  it  goes  to  you.  It's  like  the  boy!  God  rest  his 
weary  soul,  and  forgive  his  impatience  to  be  off!  We'll 
miss  him,"  he  added  brokenly. 

Elizabeth  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  on  the  table  in 
front  of  her,  neither  hearing  nor  seeing  more.  She  was 
unaware  that  she  was  the  object  of  everybody's  attention 
and  that  all  eyes  were  turned  on  her.  The  merely  mate- 
rial items  contained  in  that  instrument  were  of  little 
moment  to  her  just  then;  to  every  one  else,  except  perhaps 
Luther,  they  were  all  that  there  was  of  importance. 
Sadie  Hansen  looked  at  her  young  neighbour,  overcome 
by  the  fact  that  she  was  to  have  several  thousand  dollars 
all  her  own;  Luther's  gray  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  affection- 
ately, glad  that  this  last  evidence  of  Hugh  Noland's 
sacrifice  was  hers;  Doctor  Morgan  thought  of  the  power  it 


504         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

would  give  her  to  control  the  financial  side  of  her  life,  and 
John  Hunter  was  glad  that  at  least  the  money  was  to  re- 
main in  the  business,  and  ready  to  forget  the  supposed  plot. 

Elizabeth  was  aroused  by  Doctor  Morgan  placing  a 
sealed  envelope  in  her  hand  and  saying: 

"This  seems  to  be  for  you,  Mrs.  Hunter.  It  was  in  this 
big  envelope  with  the  will,  and  I  didn't  see  it  till  just  now." 

The  girl  was  so  surprised  that  she  turned  the  envelope 
over  two  or  three  times  and  read  her  name  carefully  to 
realize  that  the  letter  was  for  her,  and  from  Hugh's  own 
hand.  When  at  last  it  was  clear  to  her,  her  face  flushed 
with  confusion,  and  the  first  tears  which  had  dimmed  her 
eyes  since  the  hour  of  his  death  came  to  her  relief.  But 
the  tears  did  not  fall.  Realizing  that  the  eyes  of  all 
present  were  upon  her,  she  controlled  herself,  and  rising 
said: 

"Excuse  me  one  moment,  till  I  have  read  it,"  and 
passed  into  her  own  bedroom,  where,  with  the  sense  of  his 
presence,  she  clasped  it  to  her  tenderly  an  instant,  and 
still  standing,  broke  the  seal. 

It  was  simple,  sincere,  and  so  formal  that  all  the  world 
might  have  read  it,  and  yet,  it  said  all  that  she  would  have 
wanted  him  to  say. 

MY  DEAR  ELIZABETH  [it  began]:  When  this  reaches  your  hand,  my  heart  will  have 
ceased  to  trouble  either  of  us.  I  will  have  fought  my  little  fight;  I  will  have  kept  the 
faith  —  which  I  started  out  too  late  to  keep.  The  little  I  leave  you  will  be  small 
recompense  for  all  I  have  cost  you,  but  it  is  all  I  have,  and  will,  I  hope,  help  toward 
emancipating  you  from  care.  My  one  earnest  bit  of  advice  to  you  is,  keep  it  free  from 
debts. 

I  wish  I  might  have  spared  you  these  last  few  days  and  their  various  burdens,  but  I 
am  sure  they  will  be  less  heavy  than  if  I  chose  to  wait. 

HUGH. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         505 

Elizabeth  Hunter  returned  to  the  table  with  the  open 
letter,  which  she  handed  to  Doctor  Morgan  saying: 

"Read  it  aloud,  Doctor,"  and  stood  behind  her  chair 
with  her  head  bowed  while  it  was  being  done. 

When  it  was  finished,  she  looked  about  her,  measuring 
the  different  members  of  the  group,  wondering  if  it  said 
the  things  to  them  which  it  cried  aloud  to  her.  The 
survey  was  satisfactory,  till  she  suddenly  realized  that 
John  was  not  there. 

"Where's  John,"  she  asked. 

"Gone  out  to  see  Nate  Hornby  —  he's  brought  the 
baby,"  Luther  answered. 

Doctor  Morgan  started  for  home,  taking  the  will  with 
him  to  have  it  legally  probated,  and  Elizabeth  took  Jack 
from  his  father's  arms,  and  went  back  to  put  away  her 
letter,  forgetting  that  John  had  not  heard  it  read.  Nathan 
came  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  day.  He  knew  from  personal 
experience  the  cheerlessness  of  the  house  which  has  but 
latelv  harboured  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FACING   CONSEQUENCES 

THE  next  Sunday  John  was  thrown  in  upon  Eliza- 
beth for  entertainment.  He  had  been  a  little 
more  tender  with  her  since  the  funeral,  reflecting 
that  women  were  easily  upset  by  death  and  that  this  death 
had  been  particularly  tragic  in  its  sadness  and  disturbing 
features.  He  missed  Hugh,  and  an  intangible  something 
about  the  will  made  him  uncomfortable;  but  they  would 
be  rich  in  time  and  he  could  simply  oversee  the  business, 
and  life  would  be  more  satisfactory.  If  he  thought  of 
Luther  and  Nathan  as  witnesses,  the  thought  was  made 
partially  acceptable  since  they  could  see  that  Hugh  had 
placed  the  property  in  his,  John  Hunter's,  hands.  When 
the  uncomfortable  things  wormed  their  way  forward  and 
would  be  considered,  he  tried  to  reason  them  out.  Some 
features  of  it  could  be  accounted  for;  for  instance,  he, 
John  Hunter,  had  probably  not  been  consulted  by  Hugh 
for  legal  reasons,  since  the  money  was  to  come  to  them. 
Hugh  must  have  considered  that.  But  Elizabeth  had 
known !  He  had  forgotten  that.  Right  there  John  went 
into  a  brown  study.  Had  she  known  before  Hugh's 
death?  It  was  queer,  but  she  never  mentioned  Hugh 
these  days,  nor  the  will,  nor  —  no,  she  did  not  speak  of  the 

506 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         507 

letter,  much  less  offer  to  show  it  to  him.  Still,  the  money 
was  theirs.  That  was  the  solid  rock  under  John  Hunter's 
feet.  Whatever  else  happened,  the  money  was  theirs. 
Now  he  could  open  out  and  farm  on  a  scale  befitting  a 
man  of  his  parts.  They  would  make  something  yet. 
This  farming  venture  had  not  turned  out  so  badly  after 
all. 

A  slight  rain  was  falling,  the  first  in  two  months,  two  of 
the  most  important  months  in  the  year;  but  it  was  only  a 
drizzle  and  not  enough  to  benefit  the  corn,  which  —  even 
the  last  planting  —  was  ruined.  The  heat  and  drought 
had  forced  a  premature  ripening,  and  the  stubby  ears, 
fully  formed,  were  empty  of  developing  grains,  except 
near  the  butts.  It  was  discouraging  to  lose  the  corn,  and 
John,  to  take  the  place  of  the  shortened  crop,  had  had  a 
field  plowed  and  sewed  to  millet.  A  promise  of  rain 
meant  a  probable  crop  of  that  substitute  for  the  heavier 
grain,  but  it  must  be  rain,  not  a  mere  shower.  Disap- 
pointed at  the  stingy  display  of  water,  John  wandered 
about  the  house,  disturbed  by  Jack's  noise,  and  irritably 
uncomfortable. 

"Come  on  in  and  sit  down,"  he  urged  when  he  saw  that 
Elizabeth  intended  to  help  Hepsie  with  the  dishes. 

"All  right.  Let  the  work  go,  Hepsie,  and  I'll  do  it 
later,"  Elizabeth  said  quietly.  She  dreaded  an  hour  with 
John  when  he  was  in  that  mood,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no 
help  for  it. 

The  two  women  cleared  the  dinner  table  and  righted 
the  dining  room  before  they  stopped,  then  Elizabeth 


508         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

closed  the  kitchen  door  and  left  the  dishwashing  till 
she  could  get  away  from  the  conference  requested. 
Hepsie  had  hurried  to  get  started  early  for  her  home 
and  Elizabeth  had  entered  into  her  plans  and  offered 
assistance. 

"Why  don't  you  let  Hepsie  finish  them  alone?"  John 
said  petulantly. 

Elizabeth  made  no  reply,  but  took  Jack  on  her  lap  and 
rocked  him  to  keep  herself  occupied.  There  was  less 
opportunity  for  disagreement  if  the  child  were  still  while 
his  father  talked. 

"If  this  rain'd  only  get  busy  we'd  have  a  crop  of  millet 
yet,"  John  began.  "Corn's  going  to  be  mighty  high  and 
scarce  this  fall." 

Elizabeth  did  not  reply;  something  in  the  air  warned 
her  to  let  John  do  the  talking.  She  had  ceased  to  enter 
into  conversation  with  him  unless  something  vital  made  it 
necessary  to  speak.  The  vital  thing  was  not  long  in  forth- 
coming. The  whimsical  weather  made  him  depressed  and 
kept  his  mind  on  the  gloomy  crop  outlook. 

"Confound  this  beastly  drizzle!  If  it'd  only  get  down 
to  business  and  rain  we'd  pull  out  yet.  There'll  be  corn 
to  buy  for  the  cattle  and  the  very  devil  to  pay  everywhere. 
I've  got  to  lengthen  out  the  sheds  over  those  feeders  — 
it  hurried  the  cattle  to  get  around  them  last  winter  —  and 
here's  all  these  extra  expenses  lately.  There's  no  way  out 
of  it  —  we've  got  to  put  a  mortgage  on  that  west  eighty. 
I'll  take  up  the  horse  note  in  that  case,  and  Johnson's 
offering  that  quarter  section  so  cheap  that  I  think  I'll  just 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         509 

make  the  loan  big  enough  to  cover  the  first  payment  and 
take  it  in.  We'll  never  get  it  as  cheap  again." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  were  wide  open  now,  but  she  considered 
a  moment  before  she  began  to  speak. 

"We  can't  do  that,"  she  said  slowly  at  last.  "We're 
out  of  debt,  except  your  personal  note  for  the  five  hundred 
and  the  one  for  the  team.  It  won't  do  to  mortgage 
again." 

"But  we'll  have  to  mortgage,  with  the  crop  short,  and 
all  those  cattle!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Sell  a  part  of  them  as  grass  cattle,  and  use  the  money 
to  buy  corn  for  the  rest,"  she  advised. 

"Grass  cattle  are  soft  and  don't  weigh  down  like  corn- 
fed  steers.  It  would  be  sheer  waste,"  John  insisted. 

Elizabeth  understood  that  right  now  they  were  to  test 
their  strength.  She  thought  it  over  carefully,  not  speak- 
ing till  she  had  decided  what  to  say.  The  old  path  of 
mortgages  and  interest  meant  the  old  agony  of  dread  of 
pay-day  and  the  heart  eaten  out  of  every  day  of  their 
existence,  and  yet  she  was  careful  not  to  rush  into  dis- 
cussion. Her  voice  became  more  quiet  as  she  felt  her  way 
in  the  debate. 

"You  are  right  as  far  as  you  go,  grass  cattle  do  not  sell 
for  as  much,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  a  loan  means  interest, 
and  there  is  always  a  chance  of  the  loss  of  a  steer  or  two  and 
then  the  profit  is  gone  and  you  have  your  mortgage  left. 
Luther  said  yesterday  that  they  had  blackleg  over  north 
of  home,  and  you  know  how  contagious  it  is." 

"Oh,  Luther!    Of  course  Luther  knows  all  there  is  to 


5io         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

know  about  anything,"  sneered  her  husband,  to  whom 
Luther  was  a  sore  point  just  now. 

Elizabeth  realized  her  mistake  in  mentioning  Luther's 
name  to  John  almost  before  it  was  out  of  her  mouth. 
John's  instincts  made  him  bluster  and  get  off  the  subject 
of  business  and  on  to  that  of  personalities  at  once.  She  did 
not  reply  to  the  taunt,  but  went  quietly  back  to  the  point 
of  business, 

"The  price  of  corn,"  she  said  with  perfect  control, 
"will  go  way  up  after  this  dry  weather,  but  the  price  of 
beef  doesn't  always  rise  in  proportion.  Besides  that,  this 
is  a  bad  year  to  get  tied  up  in  the  money  market." 

"We're  going  to  have  to  do  it  all  the  same,"  John 
replied,  spurred  on  by  the  mention  of  Luther's  name  to 
compel  her  consent. 

"But,  we  can't  do  it.  Hugh  especially  directed  in  his 
letter  that  we  must  not  go  into  debt." 

"  I  have  not  had  the  honour  of  seeing  Hugh's  letter  to 
you,  and  therefore  I  do  not  know,"  John  returned.  That 
was  another  sore  point. 

"So  you  didn't!  Doctor  Morgan  read  it  to  all  the 
rest." 

Elizabeth  had  forgotten  that  John  had  not  heard  the 
letter  read,  and  rose  promptly  and  went  for  it.  She  laid 
it  on  the  table  at  his  elbow  when  she  returned  saying: 

"  I  had  forgotten  —  you  didn't  hear  it  when  the  doctor 
read  it  that  day. " 

John  Hunter  brushed  it  aside  with  his  arm. 

"I  don't  wish  to  see  it,  thank  you." 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         511 

The  letter  fell  on  the  floor.  Elizabeth  stooped  quickly 
and  picked  it  up. 

"You  may  do  as  you  wish  about  that;  I  shall  not  con- 
sent to  the  mortgage  just  the  same,"  she  said,  her  temper 
getting  the  better  of  her  at  last.  She  turned  to  the  bed- 
room to  put  the  letter  away. 

"Now  look  here,  Elizabeth!"  John  called  after  her. 

Seeing  the  ineffectiveness  of  carrying  on  the  conver- 
sation when  they  were  not  face  to  face,  John  waited  till 
she  returned.  When  she  was  seated  again  and  had  begun 
to  rock  the  restless  child  once  more,  he  began: 

"We  may  as  well  understand  each  other  right  now  as 
any  time.  If  you're  going  to  run  this  place,  I  want  to 
know  it,  and  I'll  step  down  and  out." 

John  looked  belligerent  and  waited  for  her  to  do  her 
womanly  duty  and  give  in.  Elizabeth  made  no  reply. 
John  waited.  He  continued  to  wait  for  some  seconds. 

"I  shall  not  consent  to  a  mortgage,"  was  the  quiet 
answer. 

John  Hunter  flung  himself  out  of  the  house. 

It  was  a  bad  afternoon  for  John.  The  drizzle  had 
hardly  been  enough  to  lay  the  dust,  but  had  made  it 
impossible  to  walk  through  the  grass  or  over  the  fields;  his 
pride  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  go  back  to  the  house, 
and  so  there  was  no  place  open  to  him  except  the  hayloft, 
where  he  turned  his  own  gloomy  thoughts  over  and 
reasoned  out  this  new  development.  A  day's  pouting,  he 
was  certain,  would  win  his  point;  it  would  probably  be  all 
right  when  he  went  back  at  supper  time,  but  he  saw  diffi- 


Si2         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

culties  ahead  with  Elizabeth  feeling  that  she  had  a  right 
to  an  opinion  regarding  the  property. 

"I  shall  let  her  see  that  I  mean  business  all  the  same. 
I'm  not  going  to  have  her  interfering  in  my  work.  Let 
her  attend  to  her  own,  as  a  woman  ought  to  do,"  he 
concluded. 

He  did  wish,  however,  that  he  had  read  the  letter. 
Doctor  Morgan  had  referred  to  the  letter  also  as  being 
authority.  He  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  if  he 
ever  saw  that  letter  that  he  would  have  to  ask  again; 
Elizabeth  was  a  little  less  easy  of  late  to  manage  than  she 
had  been  that  first  year;  she  could  put  a  thing  aside  and 
not  discuss  it  almost  as  well  as  he  could. 

At  that  point  John's  mind  flamed  up  against  Luther 
Hansen.  Elizabeth,  was  always  quoting  Luther.  He 
was  glad  he  had  let  her  see  just  now  that  she  need  not 
quote  that  common  Swede  to  him  any  more.  He  didn't 
know  a  necktie  from  a  shoelace !  Hugh  might  have  asked 
him  to  witness  the  will,  but  Hugh  had  seen  fit  to  leave  the 
money  to  them,  all  the  same.  Whatever  else  hurt,  the 
money  was  his,  and  he'd  turn  everything  into  cattle,  and 
get  rich,  and  get  out  of  this  damned  hole. 

Elizabeth,  in  the  house,  was  doing  her  own  thinking. 
The  conversation  just  finished  had  indications.  She  saw 
that  her  husband  had  a  definite  policy  in  regard  to  the 
management  of  the  property,  that  he  did  not  mean  to  let 
her  have  any  more  to  do  with  it  than  when  it  was  all  his 
own.  A  creeping  suspicion  came  to  her  that  if  she 
refused  to  consent  to  further  mortgages  her  husband 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         513 

might  leave  her.  There  had  been  a  violence  in  his  tones 
as  well  as  in  his  manner  beyond  any  he  had  ever  assumed 
toward  her.  Elizabeth  shrank  in  a  heartsick  way  from 
the  contest.  If  he  would  mortgage  the  one  eighty  and 
then  stop  she  would  far  rather  have  given  away  that  much 
land  than  to  have  the  quarrel,  but  that  she  knew  he 
would  not  do.  She  could  not  for  a  moment  think  of 
giving  up  if  she  expected  to  have  a  roof  over  her  head 
that  was  unencumbered  when  she  was  old.  Though  half 
the  property  was  now  hers  by  actual  right,  she  would  not 
interfere  with  anything  he  wished  to  do  with  it  except  to 
place  a  loan  against  it.  If  he  insisted  upon  mortgages, 
though  their  disagreement  became  a  scandal,  she  re- 
solved that  she  would  not  consent. 

John  ate  his  supper  without  speaking  to  any  one,  and 
waited  from  then  till  bedtime  for  his  answer,  but  Eliza- 
beth gave  no  sign.  The  next  day  he  waited,  and  the  next, 
with  increasing  uneasiness  and  alarm.  He  decided  at 
last  to  force  her  consent. 

The  third  day  he  put  one  of  the  new  horses  in  the  single 
buggy  and  left  the  place  without  saying  where  he  was 
going,  and  not  even  when  he  returned  in  the  evening  did 
he  mention  what  his  errand  had  been. 

The  following  morning  a  team  was  driven  into  the  side 
lane  and  Elizabeth  saw  John  meet  the  driver  and  help  him 
tie  his  horses.  There  was  the  air  of  a  prearranged  thing 
between  them,  and  as  they  came  toward  the  house  it 
flashed  through  her  mind  what  had  been  done.  Her 


5H    THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

whole  form  straightened  instinctively  and  she  grasped 
her  broom  rigidly  as  she  left  the  dining  room  and  went  to 
her  own  bedroom  to  get  control  of  herself  before  she 
should  have  to  meet  the  stranger.  She  realized  that  the 
man  was  the  Johnson  John  had  spoken  of  as  having  the 
quarter  section  of  land  for  sale.  She  was  to  be  called  upon 
to  act.  The  thing  she  must  do  she  knew  was  right;  could 
she  make  the  manner  of  the  doing  of  it  right  also?  She 
would  not  humiliate  him  if  she  could  help  it;  she  stayed  in 
her  room,  hoping  that  he  would  come  to  call  her  himself 
and  then  she  could  warn  him  when  he  was  alone,  but  John 
would  not  meet  her  except  in  the  presence  of  the  stranger, 
and  sent  Hepsie  to  call  her.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  and 
Elizabeth  went  as  she  was  bidden  —  went  quietly,  and 
was  introduced  to  the  neighbour  whom  she  had  never 
seen. 

"Mr.  Johnson  has  accepted  my  proposition,  Elizabeth, 
to  give  him  twenty-five  dollars  an  acre  for  the  quarter 
next  to  ours,"  John  said  after  all  were  seated. 

The  girl  waited  quietly.  She  noticed  that  John  did  not 
mention  the  terms  of  payment,  and  waited  for  him  to 
commit  himself  on  that  point. 

"Do  you  know  where  those  blank  deeds  are?  We  can 
make  one  out  while  we  conclude  the  details,  and  then  go 
in  to  Colebyville  to-morrow  and  have  a  notary  take  our 
signatures,"  John  concluded  easily. 

Elizabeth  hesitated  visibly,  and  John  had  a  startled 
moment,  but  she  went  for  the  blanks  at  last,  as  he  di- 
rected. The  two  men  sat  with  their  heads  together,  and 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         515 

wrote  carefully  in  the  numbers  and  legal  description  of 
the  land. 

"And  the  party  of  the  first  part  further  agrees  that  the 

sum  of "  John  was  reading  as  he  wrote  it  in.  His 

voice  ran  on  to  the  close.  When  the  writing  was  finished 
the  man  Johnson  rose,  and,  picking  up  his  straw  hat,  said: 

"I  guess  I'll  be  hurrying  on  toward  home  now.  I'll 
stop  in  on  the  way  to-morrow  morning.  You'd  just  as 
well  ride  with  me." 

"Oh,  I'll  have  to  take  Mrs.  Hunter  in  with  me,"  John 
replied,  "and  I  can  just  as  well  hitch  up  to  my  own 

rig-" 

"What  are  you  taking  me  in  with  you  for,  John?" 
Elizabeth  asked,  perfectly  quiet  on  the  outside,  but 
aquiver  with  humiliation  and  dread  because  of  the  thing 
she  was  being  compelled  to  do. 

"To  fix  up  the  papers  on  the  west  eighty;  you  know  it'll 
be  necessary  for  you  to  sign  them  too. "  Addressing  Mr. 
Johnson,  he  added  easily:  "My  wife  objects  to  going  into 
debt,  Mr.  Johnson,  but  I  felt  this  too  good  an  opportunity 
to  let  pass,  and  since  we  can  arrange  it  so  that  I  won't 
have  to  raise  but  a  thousand  dollars  just  now,  I'm  sure 
she'll  see  the  advisability  of  the  move. " 

Elizabeth  considered  a  second  before  she  began  to 
speak,  and  then  said  slowly: 

"Mr.  Hunter  does  not  understand  the  nature  of  my 
objection,  I  see.  Of  course  if  he  can  arrange  it  with  you 
so  that  all  the  indebtedness  falls  on  the  land  he  is  buying, 
I  should  have  no  objections  whatever,  but  we  cannot 


516         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

mortgage  our  home.  The  provisions  of  the  will  forbid  it, 
and  I  shall  live  up  to  those  provisions  absolutely." 

The  silence  which  followed  was  vocal  with  astonish- 
ment. The  man  looked  from  husband  to  wife  for  signs  of 
quarrelling,  but  Elizabeth  returned  his  gaze  quietly,  and 
without  signs  of  anger,  and  John  also  gave  no  indication 
of  anything  but  surprise.  After  a  gasping  instant,  during 
which  his  instincts  warned  him  to  keep  on  the  side  of 
decency,  John  accepted  the  situation  with  seeming  calm. 

"Well,  Mr.  Johnson,  if  Mrs.  Hunter  feels  that  way 
about  it,  there's  nothing  to  do.  I'm  sorry  to  have 
brought  you  over  on  a  fool's  errand,"  he  said  suavely, 
"but  it  can't  be  helped  now.  We'll  take  the  land  later, 
however,"  and  ushered  his  guest  out  of  the  house  and 
helped  him  untie  his  team  without  any  sign  of  the  tempest 
within. 

John  went  back  to  the  house  with  no  concealment  and 
no  cajolery. 

"We  may  as  well  know  where  we  are  and  what  we  mean 
to  do  right  here  and  now,  Elizabeth,"  he  began.  "If 
you're  going  to  do  this  kind  of  thing,  I  want  to  know  it. " 

Elizabeth  was  ready  for  the  storm,  and  met  it  with- 
out flurry.  She  looked  at  her  husband  quietly,  steadily, 
sorrowfully. 

"  I  shall  sign  no  mortgages,  if  that  is  what  you  are  in 
doubt  about,"  she  said.  "I  had  not  intended  to  ask  for  a 
legal  division  of  the  property,  but  since  you  demand  the 
right  to  make  loans,  I  shall  not  cripple  your  plans  with 
what  is  your  own.  I  will  have  my  part  set  aside;  you  can 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         517 

farm  it  in  any  way  you  choose,  but  you  can  only  mortgage 
what  is  yours.  I  would  have  told  you  so  if  you  had  played 
fair  and  discussed  this  thing  with  me  instead  of  leaving 
the  house  or  blustering.  You  can  tell  me  what  you  mean 
to  do  where  I  am  concerned  —  you  would  if  I  were  a  man 
—  or  you  can  take  just  what  you  did  to-day.  You  try 
to  put  me  where  I  can't  help  myself  before  strangers  when 
you  want  me  to  do  a  thing  you  know  I  don't  think  I  ought 
to  do;  and  you  can't  handle  me  that  way  any  longer." 

John  Hunter  had  been  working  himself  into  a  passion  as 
he  listened  and  burst  out: 

"And  you'll  work  for  the  best  interests  of  this  farm, 
that's  what  you'll  do!  Every  time  I  ask  you  to  sign  a 
paper  you  make  a  little  more  fuss.  Because  I  got  in 
pretty  deep  before  is  no  sign  I'm  going  to  do  it  again,  and 
when  I  tell  you  to  sign  anything  you'll  do  it. " 

His  feet  were  very  wide  apart,  and  he  thrust  his  face 
forward  at  her,  his  eyes  glaring  into  hers  with  every  trick 
which  instinct  prompted  him  to  use  in  compelling  her 
obedience. 

Elizabeth  barely  glanced  at  him,  and  then  looked  down 
at  the  floor,  quietly  considering  in  what  way  she  should 
reply  to  such  an  attack. 

John  was  disconcerted;  his  little  stage  play  had  fallen 
flat. 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Elizabeth  began  very  quietly: 

"I  will  not  interfere  with  anything  you  do  about  the 
land  which  has  been  left  to  me,  except  that  I  will  not  have 
one  cent  of  mortgage  on  it.  If  you  will  keep  out  of  debt, 


5i8         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

you  can  manage  it  any  way  you  choose,  but  I  will  have 
every  step  of  the  business  explained  to  me  which  involves 
the  safety  of  my  home,  and  it  will  be  explained  to  me 
beforehand  —  or  the  same  thing  will  happen  that  has  just 
happened.  I  will  not  be  deceived,  even  in  little  things. " 

The  girl  looked  him  squarely  and  kindly  in  the  face,  but 
her  look  was  as  firm  as  if  he  had  not  blustered. 

"I  have  not  deceived  you.  I  brought  this  man  here 
and  explained  the  whole  thing  before  your  face,  besides 
telling  you  the  other  day  that  I  intended  to  have  that 
land." 

"You  are  shuffling  with  the  truth,  and  you  know  it," 
she  said  sternly.  "You  did  not  tell  me  you  had  made  any 
arrangements  with  him,  nor  that  you  intended  to  do  so, 
only  in  a  general  way.  You  thought  you'd  catch  me 
before  him  when  it  came  to  signing  the  papers,  and  then 
you  thought  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

"I  have  not  tried  to  deceive  you!  I  brought  him  here 
and  explained  every  detail,"  he  said  with  such  a  righteous 
appearance  of  innocence  that  Elizabeth  was  tempted  to 
laugh.  "We've  fallen  to  a  pretty  state  of  affairs  when 
my  own  wife  hints  at  my  having  lied  to  her,"  John  in- 
sisted. 

Elizabeth  spoke  slowly,  measuring  her  words,  realizing 
that  the  crisis  of  their  lives  was  upon  them. 

"  I  will  not  accuse  you  any  more,  but  I  will  explain  the 
plan  on  which  I  will  do  business  with  you." 

"You  needn't  bother,"  John  interrupted  sarcastically. 
"  I  will  let  you  run  it. " 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         519 

"I  will  not  go  into  debt,"  Elizabeth  continued  as 
calmly  as  if  he  had  not  interrupted.  "That  is  the  abso- 
lute decision  I  have  come  to.  You  will  not  explain  to  me 
after  you  have  decided  to  do  a  thing  and  in  the  presence 
of  other  people,  where  my  property  and  my  freedom  are 
concerned.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  are  determined  to 
go  into  debt  and  branch  out  into  a  larger  business,  I  feel 
that  I  cannot  deny  you  the  right  to  do  as  you  wish  with 
what  is  your  own,  and  if  you  choose  to  do  so  will  divide 
the  property  and  leave  you  as  free  to  mortgage  and  sell 
as  if  you  were  not  married  to  me.  I  will  leave  you  as  free 
as  I  ask  to  be  myself. " 

"Free!  Free  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  No,  ma'am;  you 
don't  run  any  such  gag  as  that  on  me.  The  people  in  this 
community  are  only  too  anxious  to  talk  about  me;  they'd 
roll  it  under  their  tongues  like  a  sweet  morsel,  that  as  soon 
as  you  got  hold  of  the  money  you  put  the  screws  on  me. 
You  gave  Johnson  just  such  a  handle  this  afternoon  as 
that.  You'll  behave  yourself,  and  look  after  your  house 
and  child  as  a  woman  ought  to  do,  and  I'll  take  charge  of 
the  work  out  of  doors  as  a  man  ought  to  do. " 

Elizabeth  interrupted  him  eagerly: 

"Now  right  there,  John,  you  have  struck  the  very  heart 
of  the  thing  which  first  made  me  feel  that  I  must  take  care 
of  myself  in  my  own  way.  You  have  never  allowed  me 
to  bake  a  pie  or  a  loaf  of  bread,  nor  churn,  nor  anything 
without  you  told  me  how  to  do  it;  and  then  you  feel  that 
you  have  the  right  to  mortgage  the  home  right  over  my 
head  and  think  I  have  no  rights  in  the  matter. " 


520        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

It  was  John's  turn  to  interrupt  eagerly. 

"Who  put  that  home  over  your  head?"  he  asked,  for 
the  first  time  addressing  himself  to  the  real  issue  of  the 
home. 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  steadily.  She  was  surprised 
to  find  herself  talking  thus  quietly,  she  who  had  been  so 
prone  to  emotional  hindrances. 

"Since  I  have  been  in  your  house  I  have  had  my  food 
and  clothes.  I  don't  have  to  tell  you  that  my  mere  work 
is  worth  far  more  than  that.  I  have  borne  you  a  child. 
Motherhood  entitles  me  to  a  share  in  the  estate,  since  I 
have  the  child  on  my  hands;  besides,  I  could  have  been 
teaching  school  these  years  and  not  only  earned  my  living 
but  have  been  free  to  go  and  come  as  I  have  never  been 
free  here." 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  are  married  and 
your  duty  lies  here  as  well  as  your  work.  It's  a  wife  I 
want.  If  you're  going  to  be  a  wife,  be  one;  if  you're 
going  to  be  a  boss,  I  want  to  know  it,  and  I'll  get 
out." 

"Two  things  I  will  have  my  say  about:  I  will  not  mort- 
gage the  half  of  the  land  which  is  mine,  and  I  will  not  be 
interfered  with  when  I  have  to  correct  Jack,"  Elizabeth 
said  slowly.  "Also  when  I  see  fit  to  go  anywhere  I  shall 
go  hereafter.  I  was  never  allowed  to  go  to  see  Aunt 
Susan,  and  she  went  down  to  her  death  thinking  I  didn't 
want  to  come.  Of  course  that's  different  now:  I  do  go 
when  I  want  to  these  days,  but  I  got  my  first  warning 
right  there  that  I  must  take  care  of  myself.  You  don't 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         521 

intend  to  tell  me  anything  about  what  you  mean  to  do 
with  me,  ever,  if  you  can  help  it. " 

"You'll  go  into  Colebyville  and  sign  the  papers  on  that 
land  all  the  same,"  John  said  doggedly. 

"I  will  sign  no  papers  till  there  is  a  legal  division  of  the 
property,  John.  I  mean  what  I  say.  I'll  let  people  talk 
if  you  crowd  me  before  them, "  the  girl  said  decisively. 

John  glared  at  her  in  desperation. 

"Damn  it!  no  wonder  folks  talked  the  week  we  were 
married!  I've  been  humiliated  ever  since  I  brought  you 
into  this  house,"  the  man  cried,  breaking  into  a  passion 
again.  "A  pretty  figure  you'll  cut,  with  this  last  thing 
added  to  your  reputation.  Everybody  knows  you 
couldn't  get  along  with  your  father.  I  let  you  down  easy 
with  Johnson  just  now,  in  spite  of  the  humiliating  place 
you  put  me  in,  but  if  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  driven 
at  your  beck  and  call  you're  mistaken." 

John  stopped  to  give  effect  to  his  words.  He  was  just 
beginning  to  realize  that  Elizabeth  was  not  giving  up,  and 
that  it  was  a  fight  to  the  finish.  The  feature  John  dis- 
liked was  that  it  was  a  fight  in  the  open.  Well,  let  her 
fight  in  the  open,  she  should  see  that  he  would  not  be 
beaten. 

Elizabeth,  to  be  less  conscious  of  the  eyes  glaring  at  her, 
picked  up  her  sewing,  which  had  been  tossed  on  the  lounge 
an  hour  ago,  and  began  to  ply  her  needle. 

John  broke  out  anew,  really  losing  control  of  himself 
this  time. 

"It's  the  most  outrageous  thing  I  ever  heard  of  —  a 


522         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

woman  humiliating  her  husband  by  refusing  to  sign  papers 
when  he  has  brought  the  man  right  into  the  house  to  fix 
them  up!  A  pretty  reputation  I'll  get  out  of  it!  It's 
sickening,  disgusting.  What  do  you  expect  me  to  do? 
Tell  me  that.  If  I  want  to  buy  a  load  of  hay  or  a  boar  pig, 
am  I  to  say  to  a  man,  'Wait  till  I  ask  my  wife  if  I  can?" 

He  stood  leering  at  her,  hot  with  passion,  determined  to 
make  her  speak.  The  vulgarity  of  his  discussion  nause- 
ated her,  but  since  she  must  discuss,  she  was  resolved  to  do 
it  quietly  and  on  decent  ground  as  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned. Without  fear  she  replied  slowly: 

"You  know  perfectly  well  what  I  have  asked  of  you, 
John.  You  won't  gain  anything  by  blustering.  I  mean  to 
be  consulted  on  all  important  matters  like  loans,  deeds, 
and  mortgages,  exactly  as  you'd  consult  with  a  man,  and 
I  intend  to  be  consulted  before  the  thing  is  done,  and  not 
have  you  take  advantage  of  me  in  the  presence  of  stran- 
gers. You  needn't  shuffle  matters.  You  understand  what 
I  mean,  and  you  can't  fool  me.  Be  sensible  and  do  the 
right  thing  by  me,  and  give  me  the  chance  to  do  the  right 
thing  by  you. " 

"I've  done  the  right  thing  by  you  already,  and  I'll  go 
about  my  own  affairs  as  a  man  should,  and  you'll  attend 
to  your  own  affairs  as  a  woman  should  if  you  live  with 
me,  and  leave  me  free  to  act  like  a  man.  Do  you  under- 
stand that?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  sorry,  John,"  she  said,  falling  back  to  the  needle, 
which  she  had  let  rest  again  for  a  moment.  There  was  a 
little  choke  in  her  voice,  but  she  was  firm. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         523 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  asked,  suspicious 
that  she  was  not  giving  up  as  he  intended  that  she  should 
do. 

"I  mean  just  what  I  said  a  minute  ago:  I  will  let  you 
mortgage  your  half  of  this  farm  after  it  is  divided,  but  I 
will  not  sign  any  such  papers  on  the  other  half.  I  will 
not  be  taken  advantage  of  before  strangers;  I  will  let  them 
talk  first,  and  I  will  take  care  of  my  house  as  I  see  fit. 
Also,  I  will  not  speak  when  you  manage  Jack,  and  you 
will  not  interfere  when  I  have  to  do  it  —  that  is,  we  will 
not  interfere  with  each  other  before  the  child. " 

John  Hunter's  face  turned  scarlet,  his  cheeks  stung  as  if 
he  had  been  slapped;  she  was  not  giving  in  at  all!  He 
stood  before  her  incensed  beyond  words  for  a  moment, 
breathing  hard  and  almost  bursting  with  what  he  con- 
sidered the  insult  of  it;  then  the  blood  which  had  mounted 
to  his  head  receded  and  left  him  deadly  white. 

"I  don't  exactly  understand  you,"  he  said  in  level  tones, 
"but  you  shall  understand  me.  I  will  never  be  made  a 
fool  of  by  you  again;  if  you're  going  to  run  things,  say  it 
out,  and  I'll  let  you  have  it  and  run  it  alone." 

It  was  hopeless;  she  did  not  reply,  but  stitched  in  and 
out  on  Jack's  little  frock,  sick  at  heart  with  the  shame  of 
such  a  quarrel,  since  it  was  to  accomplish  nothing. 

"Answer  me!"  he  thundered. 

Elizabeth  laid  her  sewing  on  the  lounge  beside  her,  and 
rose  to  her  feet.  She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  face  and 
answered  as  he  demanded. 

"I  will  sign  no  papers  of  which  I  do  not  approve,  and 


524         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

certainly  none  which  I  have  been  deceived  about  in  any 
way.  Aside  from  that  you  are  free  to  run  the  farm  as  you 
wish." 

"Then  take  the  whole  damned  thing,  and  I'll  go  back 
to  mother  and  make  a  home  for  her.  She  was  never 
allowed  to  have  a  home  in  this  house  after  you  came  into 
it,"  he  flung  out.  "I'll  take  the  Mitchell  County  land, 
and  you  can  have  what's  here.  That's  what  you  and 
Hornby  and  Hansen  planned  from  the  first,  I  should  judge. 
That's  why  you  got  Noland  to  do  it. " 

Thrusting  his  hat  down  to  his  very  ears,  he  strode  from 
the  house,  swinging  the  screen  door  behind  him  so  hard 
that  it  broke  and  the  split  corner  fell  out  and  hung  dan- 
gling by  the  net,  which  kept  the  splintered  frame  from  fall- 
ing to  the  ground. 

Elizabeth  closed  the  panelled  door  to  keep  out  the 
flies,  and  turned  quietly  to  the  bedroom  for  her  bonnet. 
She  spoke  to  Hepsie,  who  had  heard  the  entire  argument, 
as  she  passed  through  the  kitchen,  asking  her  to  keep  Jack 
for  her,  and  walked  through  the  barnyard,  through  the 
wet  pasture,  and  on  to  her  haunt  in  the  willows,  where  she 
could  think  undisturbed. 

John  was  still  standing  in  the  harness  room  of  the  barn 
when  he  heard  the  door  close  behind  Elizabeth,  and  saw 
her  coming  that  way. 

Elizabeth  was  coming  to  the  barn!  He  gave  a  start  of 
surprise.  Even  while  he  had  not  given  up  all  thought  of 
her  coming  to  his  terms,  he  wondered  at  her  giving  in  so 
promptly.  John  drew  back  so  that  she  should  not  see 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         525 

that  he  was  watching  her.  When  she  did  not  immedi- 
ately appear  he  thought  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  that 
she  had  stopped,  not  finding  it  easy  to  approach  after  the 
haughty  manner  in  which  she  had  just  dismissed  his 
demands.  He  waited  a  moment,  considering  terms  of 
capitulation,  and  then  walked  unconcernedly  out. 

The  truth  broke  upon  him.  She  had  passed  the  barn, 
she  was  on  her  way  to  the  willows,  not  to  him.  Something 
in  John  Hunter  sickened. 

Up  to  the  moment  when  John  had  seen  his  wife  coming 
toward  him  he  had  been  fully  prepared  to  stand  by  the 
terms  of  dissolution  which  he  had  made.  But  in  that 
moment  when  he  watched  her  recede  from  him  in  the 
direction  of  the  willows,  the  tide  of  his  feelings  turned;  he 
wished  he  had  not  issued  his  ultimatum;  he  wished  he  had 
not  put  it  to  the  test. 

The  triumph  of  receiving  her  submission  had  been  his 
first  thought  when  he  had  seen  her  come  from  the  house, 
and  it  had  been  a  sweet  morsel  while  it  had  lasted,  but 
when  he  had  seen  her  going  from  him  toward  the  willows, 
he  suddenly  realized  that  triumph  had  slipped  from 
his  grasp.  Suddenly  he  desired  to  possess  her.  Not  since 
the  first  six  weeks  of  their  acquaintance  had  Elizabeth 
looked  so  fair  to  him.  He  had  put  her  away!  A  great 
sob  rose  up  in  him.  He  had  said  that  he  would  go  back  to 
his  mother,  and  his  fate  was  sealed.  He  had  gone  to  the 
barn  to  saddle  his  horse  and  start  on  the  instant  for 
Mitchell  County  and  the  cattle  he  had  chosen  as  his 
portion,  but  all  at  once  the  glamour  of  his  going  died  away 


526         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

and  he  saw  the  choice  he  had  made.  To  crown  his  cheer- 
less flight,  Jack  was  at  Nathan  Hornby's,  and  pride  would 
not  let  him  to  follow  the  child  up  even  when  he  was  going 
away  forever.  Nate  Hornby  had  had  something  to  do 
with  this  business  of  Elizabeth  getting  the  money,  and  he 
had  also  had  something  to  do  with  her  determination  to 
take  the  money  out  of  his,  her  husband's,  hands,  and  he, 
John  Hunter,  would  not  humble  himself  before  him. 
Long  before  Elizabeth's  return  from  the  willows  her  hus- 
band was  away. 

Great  was  Elizabeth  Hunter's  surprise  when  John  did 
not  -appear  at  supper.  She  had  not  taken  him  seriously; 
he  had  always  blustered,  and  while  she  had  realized  that 
he  was  angry  enough  to  make  his  word  good,  she  had  sup- 
posed that  he  would  make  a  division  of  the  property  if  he 
intended  to  leave  her,  and  make  arrangements  for  the 
child.  She  did  not  believe  that  he  was  gone,  and  answered 
the  observations  and  questions  of  the  hired  men  by  saying 
that  he  had  probably  gone  for  the  baby.  In  fact,  having 
once  said  it,  it  sounded  plausible  to  her,  and  she  waited 
till  far  into  the  night  for  the  sound  of  his  horse's  foot- 
steps. 

The  suspicion  which  at  midnight  was  yet  a  suspicion  was 
by  morning  a  certainty,  but  Elizabeth  kept  her  own  coun- 
sel, and  when  Nathan  brought  Jack  at  noon  she  did  not 
speak  of  her  husband's  absence.  The  second  day  the 
hired  men  began  to  make  mention  of  it,  and  the  evening 
of  the  third  day  Luther  Hansen  appeared  at  the  sitting- 
room  door. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         527 

"Lizzie,  what's  this  I  hear  about  Hunter?"  he  asked, 
looking  searchingly  into  her  face. 

Elizabeth  told  him  all  that  she  knew,  except  the  unjust 
thing  he  had  said  about  Luther. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  his  plans,"  she  con- 
cluded, "except  that  he  said  he  meant  to  go  to  his  mother 
after  he  had  marketed  the  cattle.  You'll  hear  from  the 
neighbours  that  Hugh's  money  has  set  me  up  and  made  a 
fool  of  me,  and  various  other  things,"  she  added;  and  she 
saw  in  his  face  that  it  had  already  been  said. 

The  girl  sat  and  looked  into  the  night  through  the  open 
door  for  a  moment  and  then  went  on: 

"I  shall  go  to  Colebyville  to-morrow,  and  see  Doctor 
Morgan  and  look  after  business  matters.  I'll  tell  you 
what  we  decide  upon  when  I  get  home.  There'll  have  to 
be  a  real  division  of  the  property  now.  I  don't  know  what 
to  do  about  living  here  alone.  I  suppose  there'll  be  every 
kind  of  gossip?" 

The  last  part  of  the  sentence  was  a  question,  and  one 
Luther  was  not  the  man  to  evade. 

"You'll  have  a  lot  of  talk  that  hain't  got  no  truth  in  it 
to  meet,"  he  said  reluctantly.  "You'll  have  t'  have  some 
one  with  you  here.  You  couldn't  git  Hornby,  could 
you  ? "  Luther  knew  the  nature  of  the  gossip  the  neigh- 
bours would  wreak  upon  her. 

A  light  fell  upon  Elizabeth. 

"The  very  idea!"  she  exclaimed.  "Just  what  I  need 
to  do  and  at  the  same  time  just  what  I  would  love  to  do." 

Luther  was  delighted  that  that  important  feature  of  the 


528         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

matter  could  be  so  easily  arranged.  He  could  not  bear  to 
have  her  mixed  up  with  any  sort  of  scandal,  when  her 
neighbours  so  little  understood  the  real  situation,  and 
would  be  so  ready  to  strike  her  wherever  they  could. 

"Then  you  go  an'  see  Hornby  to-night,  Lizzie.  Have 
Jake  hitch  up  for  you,  an'  take  Hepsie  along."  Luther 
paused  a  moment  and  then  proceeded  on  another  phase  of 
her  troubles. 

"Lizzie,  how  do  you  feel  about  it?     Do  you  —  would 
you  like  t'  have  'im  back?     'Cause  if  you  would,  I'll  go  to 
Mitchell  County  for  you.     You  ain't  goin'  t'  have  no 
easy  time  of  it  here.     Folks  —  specially  th'  women's  - 
goin'  t'  have  it  in  for  you  quite  a  bit." 

"No, "  Elizabeth  answered  promptly.  " I'll  take  what- 
ever comes  from  my  neighbours.  I  can  shut  my  doors  and 
keep  them  outside,  but,  Luther,  I  can't  go  on  as  things 
have  been  on  the  inside  of  my  own  house.  I  don't  want  to 
talk  about  it  at  all,  even  to  you,  but  I  shall  let  him  go.  It's 
better  than  some  other  things.  We'd  simply  come  to  the 
place  where  we  had  to  understand  each  other.  I'd  a 
great  deal  rather  have  him  back  than  to  have  him  gone, 
but  he  wouldn't  understand  at  all  if  I  sent  for  him. " 

Luther  looked  at  her  approvingly  and  yet  something  in 
him  held  back.  He  longed  to  spare  her  all  the  low  tittle- 
tattle  of  her  neighbours,  the  coarse  jests  of  the  hired  men 
among  themselves,  and  the  eternal  suspicions  of  the 
women. 

"I  know  all  you  would  say,  Luther,"  she  said,  under- 
standing his  reluctance  to  give  up.  "I  know  what  these 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         529 

women  who  think  I  haven't  wanted  to  visit  them  will  say, 
and  I  don't  blame  them,  but  I  will  not  send  for  him  now 
or  ever.  I  have  wronged  him  in  ways  he  has  known  noth- 
ing of  —  maybe  the  scandal  I  haven't  deserved  at  his 
hands  will  square  that  deal  a  little  —  but  that  is  not  the 
present  difficulty.  We'll  have  to  have  an  agreement 
about  our  plan  of  life  together.  If  he  ever  comes  back  I 
shall  never  deceive  him  again,  but  I  will  never  be  deceived 
by  him  again,  either. " 

"Well,  you  know  best,  Lizzie.  I'll  talk  to  Jake  for 
you.  You'd  best  try  t'  keep  him  an'  Hepsie.  They're 
good  friends  an'  you're  goin'  t'  need  friends. " 

Luther  saw  that  the  buggy  was  got  ready  for  Elizabeth 
and  Hepsie,  and  after  they  had  gone  talked  to  the  men, 
telling  them  that  Elizabeth  had  asked  him  to  do  so.  He 
told  them  her  offer  was  for  them  to  stay  on  at  the  usual 
wage,  or  go  now  so  that  she  could  fill  their  places.  After 
they  had  signified  their  willingness  to  remain  in  her 
employment,  he  took  Jake  aside  and  had  a  long  talk  with 
him. 

Jake  Ransom  filled  with  anger  when  the  two  were  alone. 

"  I  didn't  say  anything  when  you  was  a  talkin'  t'  them 
men,"  he  said  confidentially,  "but  I  ain't  lived  in  this 
house  for  close  on  three  year  now  without  learnin'  some- 
thin'.  Damned  fool!  never  done  nothin'  she's  wanted  'im 
to  since  I've  been  here.  She  got  'er  eye-teeth  cut  when 
Mis  Hornby  died,  but  it  most  killed  'er.  I've  watched 
'er  a  gittin'  hold  of  'erself  gradual-like,  an'  I  knew  there'd 


530         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

be  an  end  of  his  boesin'  some  day.  Gosh!  I'm  glad  she 
got  th'  money!  Noland  was  some  fond  of  her." 

Jake  stole  a  sidelong  glance  at  Luther  as  he  said  it  and 
waited  to  see  if  he  would  elicit  an  answer.  When  Luther 
did  not  reply,  he  added: 

"I'm  dog'on  glad  I've  been  here.  Lots  of  folks '11  ask 
me  questions,  an'  won't  I  be  innocent?  You  kin  help  at 
your  end  of  this  thing  too.  I  guess  we  kin  do  it  'tween 
us.' 

The  understanding  was  perfect,  but  Jake  took  warning 
by  Luther's  refusal  to  discuss  private  affairs.  Without 
saying  just  what  was  intended,  each  knew  what  course  of 
action  the  other  meant  to  take,  and  so  Elizabeth  was 
granted  friends  at  the  critical  moment  of  her  life  and 
spared  much  that  was  hard  in  a  community  where  per- 
sonalities were  the  only  topics  of  conversation. 

Nathan  Hornby  was  only  too  glad  to  live  in  the  house 
with  Jack  Hunter.  As  he  remarked,  it  would  take  no 
more  time  to  drive  over  to  his  work  than  to  cook  his  own 
breakfast  in  the  morning. 

Hepsie  was  at  this  time  Elizabeth's  principal  defender. 
While  listening  to  the  reading  of  the  will  on  the  day  of 
the  funeral,  Hepsie,  old  in  the  ways  of  her  little  world,  had 
known  that  some  explanation  would  have  to  be  made  of  so 
unusual  a  matter  as  a  man  leaving  his  money  to  another 
man's  wife,  instead  of  to  the  man  himself,  and  had  begun 
by  giving  out  the  report  which  she  intended  the  world  to 
accept,  by  talking  to  Sadie  Hansen  before  she  got  out 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  TOE  DAWN         53 1 

of  the  dooryard.  Hepsie  knew  that  first  reports  went 
farthest  with  country  folk,  and  Luther,  who  understood 
better  than  any  one  else  why  the  money  had  been  left  to 
Elizabeth,  was  inwardly  amused  at  Sadie's  explanations 
afterward. 

"You  know,  Luther,"  Sadie  had  said  on  the  way  home 
that  day,  "Mr.  Noland  told  Hepsie  he  was  agoin'  t'  leave 
his  share  of  th'  land  to  Lizzie,  'cause  Doc  Morgan  says 
she'll  never  be  strong  again  after  overworkin'  for  all  them 
men,  an'  things.  An'  she  says  he  felt  awful  bad  'cause  he 
was  a  layin'  there  sick  so  long  an'  her  a  havin'  t'  do  for 
'im  when  she  wasn't  able  —  an'  do  you  know,  she  thinks 
that's  why  he  killed  hisself?  I  always  did  like  'im.  I 
think  it  was  mighty  nice  for  him  t'  leave  'er  th'  stuff. 
My!  think  of  a  woman  havin'  a  farm  all  'er  own!" 

And  Luther  Hansen  listened  to  Sadie  telling  her  mother 
the  same  thing  the  next  day,  and  smiled  again,  for  Mrs. 
Crane  could  talk  much,  and  was  to  talk  to  better  purpose 
than  she  knew. 

Also,  when  Elizabeth  went  to  the  little  schoolhouse  to 
meeting  the  first  Sunday  of  her  widowhood,  being  deter- 
mined to  be  a  part  of  the  community  in  which  she  lived, 
Hepsie  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little  crowd  after 
services  were  over,  to  explain  in  a  whisper  that  Lizzie  was 
"goin'  t'  go  t'  meetin'  now  like  she'd  always  wanted  to  do, 
only  Mr.  Hunter  never  'd  take  'er  anywhere  'cause  'e  felt 
hisself  too  good." 

Hepsie  was  to  fight  Elizabeth's  battles  on  many  occa- 
sions and  stayed  on,  watchful  as  a  hawk  of  Elizabeth's 


532         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

reputation.  A  sly  joke  among  the  hired  men  while  dis- 
cussing their  position  in  the  house  of  "the  grass-widder" 
drove  Hepsie  beside  herself  and  made  her  even  more  ready 
than  she  had  been  at  first  to  serve  the  interests  of  one  who 
was  to  have  no  easy  time  among  her  jealous  neighbours. 
Elizabeth  knew  that  in  that  hour  she  could  have  had  most 
of  these  people  for  her  friends  had  it  not  been  that  she  was 
supposed  to  be  "stuck-up."  This  also  was  a  price  she 
was  to  pay  for  having  let  her  husband  dominate  her. 

When  Doctor  Morgan  was  told  of  Elizabeth's  plan  to 
farm  the  place  herself  he  was  delighted  and  approved  of 
it  heartily. 

"You're  a  little  brick,  Mrs.  Hunter,"  he  said.  "I'll 
back  you  in  anything  you  decide  to  do.  It  was  devilish 
mean  to  run  off  without  settling  affairs  up.  If  any  of  these 
yahoos  around  here  say  anything  about  it  they'll  get  a 
setting  up  from  me  that  they  won't  want  again.  But  I'm 
mighty  glad  you've  got  Hornby.  That'll  keep  actual 
slander  off  of  you.  How  much  did  you  say  you  owed 
now?" 

"Five  hundred  —  and  some  expenses  for  Mr.  Noland 
—  besides  the  note  you  hold  for  the  team.  I've  got  about 
a  hundred  in  the  bank,  but  I  shall  need  a  pony  to  ride 
about  the  farm,  and  that  will  take  about  half  of  what  I 
have  ready. 

"The  pony's  a  good  idea.  There's  no  telling  what 
would  be  made  out  of  you  wandering  around  the  fields  on 
foot  to  look  after  the  hired  men,  but  on  horseback  you'd 
be  all  right.  Now  don't  you  worry  about  that  note  of 


THE  WINt)  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         533 

mine  —  I'm  in  no  hurry,"  the  doctor  said  encouragingly. 
Elizabeth  saw  the  advantage  of  having  Doctor  Morgan  as 
an  enthusiastic  advocate  of  her  plans. 

"What  about  the  land,  Doctor?"  the  girl  asked  next. 
"I  want  a  legal  division  as  soon  as  possible.  Will  it  have 
to  be  appraised  and  sold?" 

Doctor  Morgan  noted  joyfully  that  Elizabeth  Hunter 
had  her  business  well  in  mind,  and  assured  her  that  it 
would  be  only  a  formality  to  have  the  appraising  done,  as 
she  could  buy  it  in  herself,  and  further  assured  her  that  he 
would  himself  confer  with  John  after  all  was  settled. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"THE  WEIGHT  OF  A  DOLLAR!     FREE  AND  OUT  OF  DEBT 
DON'T  FORGET  THAT!" 

NATHAN  HORNBY  moved  promptly  over  to  the 
Hunter  farm,  and  established  himself  in  Hugh's 
old  room  upstairs. 

The  farm  work  prospered  under  Elizabeth's  manage- 
ment. She  was  fortunate  enough  to  trade  a  young  heifer 
with  a  calf  at  her  side  for  Silas's  pony,  and  because  feed 
was  scarce  she  sold  most  of  the  stock,  keeping  only  such 
as  she  desired  to  open  farming  with  the  next  spring.  The 
hogs  were  marketed  early,  and  the  few  steers  left  when 
the  cattle  had  been  taken  to  Mitchell  County  were  sold 
to  the  first  buyer  who  offered  a  reasonable  figure  for  them; 
the  cows  which  gave  evidence  of  increase  were  kept  and 
the  rest  sold.  Altogether  money  enough  was  raised  to 
pay  the  note  for  the  team  and  all  the  outstanding  indebt- 
edness except  the  note  for  five  hundred  dollars.  The 
latter  did  not  mature  till  May  and  could  stand.  The 
expense  of  feeding  discouraged  the  farmers  and  prices 
dropped  steadily  all  winter. 

When  April  came  the  Johnson  land  was  sold  to  a 
stranger,  who  came  and  offered  to  buy  the  west  eighty  of 
Elizabeth's  land.  The  five  hundred  would  be  due  the 

534 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         535 

next  month.  The  new  neighbour  coveted  that  eighty, 
and  Elizabeth  decided  that  if  she  could  get  a  price 
warranting  its  sale  she  would  sell,  pay  off  the  five  hun- 
dred, and  put  the  rest  into  calves  while  they  were  cheap. 
She  offered  the  land  for  thirty-five  dollars  an  acre.  It  was 
unheard  of!  No  one  had  ever  asked  so  much  for  land  in 
that  country,  but  the  man  wanted  to  add  that  land  to  his 
farm,  and  after  some  bargaining  paid  the  price. 

Frugal  and  cautious,  Elizabeth  paid  the  five  hundred 
with  the  first  check  she  drew  against  the  price  of  the  land. 
That  left  two  thousand  for  calves  and  three  hundred  for 
running  expenses.  John  had  taken  one  horse  out  of  the 
new  team  when  he  went  away,  and  Elizabeth  decided  not 
to  buy  another,  but  to  hire  a  horse  in  harvesting  time. 
There  were  three  full  teams  for  the  plows,  besides  the 
horse  which  had  been  hurt  in  the  runaway.  It  had 
recovered  and,  though  scarred  and  stiffened,  could  be  used 
for  ordinary  work.  She  took  good  care  to  have  it  hitched 
beside  a  solid,  trusty  mate  and  treated  gently  to  soothe  its 
wild  nature. 

No  word  had  come  from  John  except  when  Doctor 
Morgan  wrote  him  of  the  appraisement  of  the  land. 
Then  a  curt  letter  had  been  received  saying  that  what- 
ever they  did  would  be  satisfactory  to  him  and  that  when 
the  deeds  came  he  would  sign  them.  Not  to  be  outdone, 
Elizabeth  bought  the  portion  of  land  which  did  not  have 
the  house  and  buildings,  agreeing  to  rent  the  home  eighty 
until  such  time  as  he  should  choose  to  sell  it,  and  express- 
ing a  desire,  since  Jack  had  been  born  there,  to  buy  the 


536         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

home  if  John  should  ever  wish  to  part  with  it.  To  his 
suggestion  that  she  use  the  home  without  rent  —  in  fact, 
an  offer  of  it  as  his  share  of  support  of  the  child  —  Eliza- 
beth refused  to  listen. 

" I'll  rent  it  of  him  as  I  would  of  anybody,  Doctor,"  she 
had  replied,  and  made  out  a  note  on  the  spot. 

John  had  written  that  he  was  in  the  commission  busi- 
ness in  Chicago,  and  did  not  say  whether  his  mother  was 
with  him  nor  not.  To  Elizabeth  he  did  not  write,  but  to 
Jack  he  sent  loads  of  toys  and  a  sled  at  Christmas  time. 

Elizabeth  had  not  attempted  to  communicate  with 
John  direct,  but  had  rented  his  share  of  the  land  from  him 
through  Doctor  Morgan.  The  sale  of  the  west  eighty 
gave  her  enough  money  to  stock  the  place  with  every 
animal  it  would  hold.  When  the  girl  began  to  look  about 
her  for  calves,  she  found  that  because  of  the  price  of  corn 
many  farmers  were  selling  their  hogs  at  a  sacrifice.  Hogs 
were  quick  money.  She  invested  in  such  as  were  ready 
for  increase,  and  by  harvest  time  there  was  a  fine  lot  of 
pigs  on  the  Hunter  farm.  Every  cow  had  been  milked, 
and  the  calves  raised  by  hand  so  as  to  have  the  milk  for 
the  young  pigs  till  the  early  corn  could  be  gathered. 
Milking  was  hard  work,  but  Elizabeth  Hunter's  pride 
was  up. 

Elizabeth's  pride  had  had  some  sore  pricks.  In  spite  of 
every  effort  to  avoid  hearing  the  small  talk  regarding  her- 
self, Elizabeth  had  been  obliged  to  listen  to  such  portions 
as  dribbled  through  from  her  mother,  and  an  occasional 
remark  from  Sadie  Hansen.  Sadie  Hansen'  s  life  was  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         537 

reorganized  one,  but  there  were  small  lapses,  and  from 
force  of  habit  she  repeated  things,  though  she  was  in  the 
main  about  the  kindest  neighbour  Elizabeth  had.  With 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  the  case  was  different.  She  was  Eliza- 
beth's mother,  and  certain  privileges  must  be  accorded 
her  because  of  the  relationship.  When  she  chose  to  disap- 
prove of  the  separation  of  her  daughter  from  her  husband, 
the  daughter  was  compelled  to  recognize  her  right  to 
protest,  and  often  inadvertently  to  listen  to  the  gossip 
which  her  mother  urged  as  reasons  for  her  objections. 
Mrs.  Farnshaw  came  often  and  talked  volubly.  Eliza- 
beth shielded  herself  as  best  she  could  from  her  mother's 
prattlings,  but  had  to  endure  many  tearful  complaints, 
for  her  mother  was  suffering  much  loneliness  and  discom- 
fort since  her  daughter's  marriage.  Josiah  Farnshaw  did 
not  forget,  nor  let  his  wife  forget,  the  disaffection  of 
Elizabeth. 

Once  when  Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  gone  beyond  the  mark 
where  her  daughter  could  receive  it  in  silence,  urging  that 
Elizabeth  call  her  husband  home  and  submit  herself  to 
the  matrimonial  yoke,  the  girl  turned  upon  her  in  an- 
noyance: 

"You'd  have  me  just  where  you  are  yourself,  ma. 
You  say  pa  mistreats  you  —  that's  just  what  was  coming 
to  me.  If  I  didn't  have  money  enough  that  was  all  my 
own  to  live  on,  my  husband  would  be  sneering  at  me  and 
keeping  me  in  hot  water  all  the  time,  exactly  as  pa  sneers 
at  you. " 

"But  you're  separated!"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  cried. 


538         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Yes,"  the  girl  said  slowly,  "and  because  we  are  sepa- 
rated I  can  go  to  town  if  I  like, I  can  go  to  church,!  can  go 
to  see  a  neighbour,  or  my  mother,  without  hating  to  ask 
for  a  horse  to  drive  or  being  told  when  to  come  home,  and 
when  Jack  is  naughty  I  can  talk  to  him  without  having 
anybody  set  his  little  will  against  mine  and  make  it  harder 
to  deal  with  him.  Oh,  mother  nine!  Can't  you  see  that 
I'm  happier  than  you  are?" 

"But,  you're  livin'  apart  and  —  and  folks  is  a  talkin'!" 
the  mother  exclaimed  hopelessly. 

"Let  them  talk.  Their  talk  don't  hurt  me,  and  it 
shouldn't  hurt  you.  They  don't  talk  before  me. " 

"But  they  talk  behind  your  back,  Lizzie,"  Mrs.  Farn- 
shaw  said  with  a  wise  nod  of  the  head. 

"They  talked  about  us  when  John  was  here,  ma,  and 
they  always  talk  about  us;  it  doesn't  matter  much  what 
they  talk  about;  they  wouldn't  pay  off  the  mortgage,  nor 
the  interest,  nor  raise  Jack  right,  nor  give  me  a  chance  to 
rest  on  washday.  Some  will  say  I  was  in  the  wrong,  some 
that  John  was,  and  they  all  said  that  I  was  stuck-up  and 
wouldn't  visit  with  them  when  it  wasn't  so  at  all.  They 
are  looking  to  see  who  was  wrong;  I  have  reasoned  out 
what  was  wrong.  It's  principles,  not  personalities,  that 
get  people  into  troubles  that  don't  seem  to  have  any  way 
out.  Oh !  can't  you  see,  ma,  that  I'm  free,  and  the  women 
that  talk  about  me  are  just  where  they've  always 
been.  Free!  and  don't  forget  that  I'm  out  of  debt. 
That's  more  than  you've  got  by  staying  with  your 
husband,  and  you  haven't  been  able  to  keep  people 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         539 

from  talking  after  all.  Free,  and  out  of  debt!  Don't 
forget  it. " 

"Well,  you  wouldn't  'a*  been  free,  either,  if  Mr.  Noland 
hadn't  'a'  left  you  th'  money,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  replied. 

Elizabeth  dropped  into  a  retrospective  mood  for  a 
moment  before  she  answered,  and  then  said  slowly: 

"I  know  that.  God  in  Heaven,  how  well  I  know  it! 
And  do  you  know  I  think  about  it  every  day  —  what 
could  be  done  for  the  poor  women  on  these  hot  Kansas 
prairies  if  there  were  some  way  to  see  that  every  girl  that 
loves  a  man  enough  to  marry  him  could  have  money 
enough  to  keep  her  if  she  couldn't  live  under  the  work 
and  children  he  crowds  on  her.  I'm  free,  because  I  have 
money  enough  all  my  own  to  live  on.  That's  the  weight 
of  a  dollar.  Don't  forget  that,  you  poor  ma,  who  have 
never  had  a  dollar  except  what  has  been  doled  out  to  you 
by  the  man  you  married.  The  weight  of  a  dollar," 
Elizabeth  added  meditatively,  "that's  what  it  is!" 

Mrs.  Farnshaw,  who  had  bought  the  groceries  for  her 
little  family  with  the  butter  and  eggs,  and  whose  sugar 
had  sometimes  been  short  because  there  was  a  supply  of 
Horse  Shoe  Plug  to  provide  also,  had  no  answer  ready. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

"WAS  —  WAS    MY    PAPA   HERE    THEN?"- 

TWO  years  of  favourable  weather  and  good  fortune 
with  her  livestock  saw  the  money  Elizabeth  had 
invested  in  hogs  doubled  and  trebled,  and  later, 
when  the  Johnson  land  was  again  offered  for  sale,  she  was 
able  to  buy  it  for  cash  and  have  the  place  well  stocked 
after  it  was  done.  Silas  Chamberlain,  who  watched 
Elizabeth  with  the  same  fatherly  interest  he  had  felt  when 
her  child  was  born,  and  who  glowed  with  secret  pride  at 
the  way  in  which  she  had  won  her  way  back  into  the 
country  society  about  them,  came  in  often  and  offered 
his  measure  of  good-natured  praise.  He  had  prophesied 
the  first  time  she  had  cooked  for  harvest  hands  that  she 
would  become  a  famous  cook,  but  he  had  not  expected  to 
find  her  a  famous  farmer.  What  was  still  more  astonish- 
ing to  the  old  man  was  that  she  had  become  noted  in  quite 
other  ways.  The  move  she  had  made  in  going  to  meeting 
the  first  Sunday  after  John's  departure,  and  Hepsie's 
explanation  of  it,  had  worked  to  her  advantage  in  re- 
establishing her  in  the  community  as  one  of  its  factors, 
and  opened  10  her  the  opportunity  to  wield  the  influence 
which  Luther  had  pointed  out  to  her  the  best  educated 
woman  in  a  community  should  wield.  She  took  a  class 

540 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        541 

in  the  little  Sunday  school  at  the  schoolhouse,  not  so  much 
because  she  was  an  enthusiastic  churchwoman  as  because 
it  was  the  place  where  contact  could  be  had.  Elizabeth 
belonged  to  no  church,  but  Elizabeth  could  turn  the  con- 
versation of  the  church  members,  among  whom  she 
mingled,  from  gossip  to  better  things,  and  there  was  not  a 
quilting  bee  nor  an  aid  society  meeting  in  the  country 
around  to  which  she  was  not  invited,  and  which  she  did 
not  raise  to  a  higher  standard  by  her  presence. 

The  snubs  which  the  neighbour  women  were  at  first 
anxious  to  deliver  fell  flat  in  the  quiet  unconsciousness 
with  which  they  were  met.  Elizabeth  felt  that  much  of 
the  treatment  she  received  was  given  in  righteous  indig- 
nation, and  pursued  the  policy  when  possible  to  do  so  of 
not  seeing  it,  and  when  it  must  be  met  to  meet  it  with  per- 
fect good  humour.  She  kept  her  credit  good  among  the 
men  with  whom  she  bartered  for  young  stock,  and  there 
began  to  creep  in  a  better  feeling  for  her  within  the  first  six 
months  after  she  assumed  the  care  of  the  farm  and  the 
problematical  position  of  a  "grass  widow"  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Doctor  Morgan,  Hepsie,  Jake,  and  Luther 
were  splendid  assets  in  the  race  with  public  feeling,  and 
Silas  saw  his  young  neighbour's  affairs  straighten  out  with 
chuckles  of  delight.  He  watched  her  manoeuvre  with  her 
business  deals  and  saw  the  cool-headedness  of  them  with 
growing  enthusiasm.  He  passed  Nathan  on  his  way  to 
the  field  one  spring  morning  and  noticed  that  Nathan  was 
using  a  seeder  from  the  Hunter  farm.  It  was  bright  with 
a  coat  of  freshly  dried  paint. 


542         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"That's  what  she  borrowed  my  brushes  for  last  week," 
he  exclaimed  to  Nathan.  "Ever  see  anything  like  *er?" 
he  asked  admiringly.  "Takes  care  of  everything.  Did 
you  ever  see  th'  likes  of  them  hogs?  She's  made  more 
money  sellin'  that  land  an'  buyin'  of  it  back  'n  most  of  us 
old  heads  '11  make  in  five  year.  Everything  she  touches 
seems  t'  have  a  wad  stuck  under  it  somewheres. " 

Elizabeth  was  more  than  merely  successful  in  money 
matters;  she  was  a  reorganized  woman  from  the  standpoint 
of  health  also.  She  was  no  more  the  weary,  harassed 
woman  who  had  churned,  baked,  and  cooked  for  shellers, 
and  had  so  nearly  found  an  early  grave.  The  satisfaction 
of  working  unrestrained,  of  resting  when  nature  and 
woman's  constitution  demanded,  and  the  whole  matter  of 
living  without  fear,  had  given  her  a  sound  and  healthy 
body  and  a  mind  broader  and  less  liable  to  emotional  bias. 
The  principle  which  she  had  demanded  from  her  husband 
in  their  last  conversation  she  put  into  practice.  Hepsie 
ruled  the  house  very  much  as  if  it  were  her  own.  Eliza- 
beth knew  from  experience  the  dreariness  of  housework 
where  all  individuality  is  denied  the  worker.  Hepsie 
came  and  went  as  the  exigencies  of  the  work  permitted, 
and  there  was  always  a  horse  provided  for  her  journeys 
away  from  the  place;  in  fact,  Hepsie  was  much  more  free 
than  her  mistress  had  been  in  her  first  three  years  in  the 
same  house.  Elizabeth  demanded  good  service,  but  she 
gave  good  service  also,  and  from  being  a  good  joke  to 
work  for  the  grass  widow,  it  came  to  be  recognized  that 
the  Hunter  farm  was  a  good  place  to  live,  and  when  the 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         543 

spring  came  around  the  men  who  had  worked  there  the 
season  before  always  presented  themselves  for  fresh 
hiring. 

Two  years  more  passed,  and  Master  Jack  Hunter  was 
seven  years  old.  On  his  seventh  birthday  his  mother 
dressed  him  and  herself  carefully  and  rode  over  to  the 
lonely  graveyard.  She  did  not  go  flower-laden.  Rather, 
she  went  as  was  her  custom,  to  spend  an  hour  with  the 
quiet  dead  in  silent  thought.  Hugh  Noland's  sacrifice 
had  not  been  in  vain.  The  life  he  had  laid  down  had, 
whatever  its  mistakes  and  weaknesses,  been  a  happy  one 
to  himself,  and  had  carried  a  ray  of  cheer  to  all  with  whom 
it  had  come  in  contact,  while  his  death  had  pointed 
toward  an  ideal  of  purity,  in  spite  of  failures.  That  brief 
period  during  which  Elizabeth  had  been  compelled  to  live 
a  double  life  for  his  sake  had  held  many  lessons,  and  had 
forever  weaned  her  from  duplicity  of  any  sort.  Those 
special  hours  —  the  hours  spent  beside  Hugh  Noland's 
grave  —  were  spent  in  searching  self-inquiry,  in  casting 
up  accounts,  in  measuring  herself  against  the  principles 
with  which  she  struggled.  People  had  gone  out  of  her 
wrestlings;  principles  remained.  Here  Elizabeth  medi- 
tated upon  the  fact  that  because  the  neighbourhood 
sentiment  and  discussion  centred  around  their  home,  she 
and  John  Hunter  had  missed  a  golden  opportunity  in  not 
having  become  a  force  for  good  during  those  first  years 
of  their  marriage. 

The  hour  spent  beside  Hugh's  grave  was  her  sacra- 
ment. There  she  went  to  renew  her  faith  in  her  own 


544         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

powers,  which  Hugh's  interest  and  estimates  had  first 
taught  her  to  recognize;  there  she  went  to  renew  her  vows 
of  higher  living,  and  there  to  contemplate  the  freedom 
which  Hugh  Noland  had  given  her.  But  for  the  land  and 
stock  which  gave  her  an  independent  income  she  would 
have  been  as  tearful,  worn,  and  despondent  as  many  of 
the  women  about  her.  Her  heart  was  very  tender  toward 
Hugh  as  she  sat  beside  his  grave  to-day.  She  held  his 
letter  —  the  only  one  he  had  ever  written  her  —  in  her 
hands.  As  she  read  it  over,  part  of  its  last  sentence, 
"and  will,  I  hope,  help  toward  emancipating  you  from 
care,"  struck  her  attention,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"What  is  it,  mamma?  What  hurts?"  Jack  asked, 
always  quick  to  respond  to  his  mother's  moods. 

"Nothing,  dear,  but  Uncle  Hugh's  letter.  He  wrote  it 
just  before  he  died.  He  was  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said, 
patting  the  face  thrust  up  for  a  kiss. 

"Was  —  was  my  papa  here  then?"  the  child  asked, 
curious  about  the  life  he  could  not  remember,  and  trying 
to  relate  things  as  he  heard  of  them  in  their  true  rela- 
tion to  the  father  who  was  a  mysterious  personage  and 
therefore  interesting. 

When  his  mother  did  not  answer,  he  crept  closer  and, 
laying  his  head  against  her  arm,  said  wistfully: 

"Mamma,  will  my  papa  ever  come  back  to  us?" 

"I  don't  know,  Jack,"  she  answered  quietly.  "Per- 
haps. If  he  don't,  you  shall  go  and  see  him  when  you 
are  a  big  boy.  Now  run  away,  and  leave  mamma  a 
chance  to  think  for  a  whole  ten  minutes." 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         545 

The  child  ran  off  to  the  horses,  and  Elizabeth  faced  the 
life  she  led.  A  curious  thing  was  made  plain  to  her  in  that 
hour  —  namely,  that  Hugh,  whom  she  remembered  ten- 
derly, was  but  a  memory,  while  John  Hunter,  the  father 
of  her  child,  whom  she  had  no  other  cause  to  love,  was  a 
living  force  in  her  life,  and  that  at  the  child's  simple  ques- 
tion a  longing  flamed  up,  and  a  feeling  that  she  wished  he 
were  there.  She  remembered  him  as  he  would  ride  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  his  fair,  soft  hair  wind-blown  about  his 
temples,  and  she  would  have  been  glad  to  go  forth  to  meet 
him  and  try  anew  to  build  a  life  together  which  would  be 
livable  to  both. 

A  long  time  she  pondered,  and  the  impulse  to  write  to 
him  came  over  her,  but  that  impulse  was  followed  by 
retrospection,  and  as  one  thing  after  another  arose  out  of 
the  past  in  solemn  procession,  closing  with  the  unloved 
and  unwished-for  child  which  she  had  lost  five  years  ago, 
she  knew  that  she  would  not  open  a  correspondence.  At 
that  point,  and  with  the  memory  of  the  sweltering  day  and 
the  unnecessary  churning,  her  tender  memory  of  Hugh, 
who  had  made  her  free  and  economically  independent, 
welled  up  in  her  in  one  glad  tide  of  thanksgiving,  and  she 
thought  of  her  mother  and  the  thousands  of  other  women 
on  these  Kansas  prairies  who  had  not  been  saved  from 
such  a  fate  by  being  made  independent  landowners,  and 
she  pondered  on  their  fate  till  she  longed  for  a  way  out  for 
all  women  who  were  mothers. 

"This  income  could  have  set  John  free  too,  if  he  would 
only  have  thought  it  over,"  she  said  to  herself.  "He 


546         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

need  not  have  been  burdened  with  us  while  he  was  getting 
his  depths  in  the  business  world,"  she  concluded. 

Wherever  Elizabeth's  thoughts  turned  to-day,  John  was 
the  centre  of  them.  Elizabeth  had  never  been  resentful 
toward  her  husband,  and  the  never-ceasing  cause  of  specu- 
lation and  comment  in  the  neighbourhood  had  been  upon 
the  fact  that  though  she  lived  apart  from  him,  she  never 
seemed  to  think  of  divorce.  Elizabeth's  attitude  toward 
John  was  that  of  a  mother  who  waits  for  a  child  to  find  the 
real  light  on  a  situation.  She  rarely  heard  from  him,  and 
never  directly.  She  knew  of  some  of  his  affairs  through 
Doctor  Morgan,  with  whom  John  corresponded  when 
business  required,  but  she  wrote  regularly  to  Mrs.  Hunter, 
who  had  gone  to  her  son  the  second  year  he  had  been 
away,  and  who  had  written  to  her  at  that  time.  Eliza- 
beth had  been  glad  of  so  simple  a  means  of  keeping  the  link 
unbroken  between  him  and  his  child.  It  had  been  no  part 
of  her  plan  to  separate  Jack  from  his  father.  She  would 
not  ask  John  to  return,  but  she  wished  him  to  have  such 
knowledge  of  his  son  as  his  temper  would  permit.  She 
wrote  such  details  of  the  home  and  the  child  as  would 
interest  them,  knowing  that  John  would  read  the  letters. 
Somehow,  to-day  she  wished  that  she  could  write  to  him 
direct,  but  as  she  thought  she  shook  her  head. 

"It  cannot  be,"  she  said  aloud. 

"Mamma,  if  you  don't  come  we  won't  have  time  to  go 
for  the  mail,"  Jack  called. 

The  pleasant  afternoon  had  waned;  Elizabeth  Hunter 
gazed  about  her  in  astonishment;  it  was  indeed  late. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         547 

She  stooped  and  passed  her  hand  over  the  name  cut  in  the 
marble  slab.  "Hugh  Noland,  aged  twenty-nine." 

"Hugh  Noland,  dear,"  she  said  aloud,  "you  have  set 
me  financially  free,  but  there  is  another  kind  of  freedom 
I  have  got  to  win  for  myself.  I've  got  to  tell  John  the 
things  that  we  wanted  to  tell  and  were  too  cowardly  to 
do.  If  we  ever  come  together  again  I  shall  tell  it  out,  if 
all  this  country  gets  to  hear  it.  Jack  can  better  afford  to 
take  the  disgrace  of  it  than  to  have  a  mother  who  carries 
it  about  with  her  as  a  secret.  Without  honesty  no  other 
virtue  is  a  virtue  at  all." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she  voiced  her  vow, 
but  there  was  a  sense  of  relief  welling  up  within  her  that 
she  had  not  known  in  all  the  five  years  Hugh  had  lain  here. 
She  stood  very  quiet  till  her  emotions  were  under  control 
and  her  sunny  self  in  command  again,  then  she  blew  a  kiss 
at  Aunt  Susan's  grave  and  went  to  the  waiting  child  and 
with  him  rode  a  merry  race  toward  Colebyville. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TO  DO  OVER,  AND  TO  DO  BETTER,  WAS  THE 
OPPORTUNITY  OFFERED 

ELIZABETH  HUNTER  and  her  son  were  still 
breathing  hard  from  rapid  riding  when  they  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  post-office.  Elizabeth  dropped 
from  the  saddle,  tossing  her  rein  to  Jack  to  hold  till  her 
return,  and  went  inside.  She  was  to  remember  this  day 
and  the  dingy  little  window  through  which  mail  was 
passed.  The  postmaster  was  a  new  man  and  tossed  the 
letters  out  carelessly;  therefore  he  did  not  see  the  sudden 
start  the  girl  gave  as  she  began  to  gather  them  up. 

John  Hunter's  familiar  handwriting  stared  at  her  from 
the  top  envelope. 

Elizabeth  thought  of  many  things  while  she  waited  for 
the  man  to  run  through  the  newspapers  and  magazines. 
Half  an  hour  ago  she  had  registered  a  vow  beside  Hugh 
Noland's  grave.  She  was  to  be  tested  promptly.  When 
all  was  handed  out  to  her,  she  took  the  pile  —  Elizabeth's 
magazines  supplied  the  entire  community  with  reading 
material,  and  were  handed  from  house  to  house  till  as 
ragged  as  the  tumble  weeds  of  her  native  Kansas  —  and 
put  them  all  in  the  canvas  bag  at  Jack's  saddle  horn.  The 
letter  was  unopened.  Something  made  her  wait.  Some- 

548 


"JOHN  HUNTER'S  FAMILIAR  HANDWRITING  STARED  AT  HER 
FROM  THE  TOP  ENVELOPE" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         549 

thing  said  that  John  was  asking  to  return  —  to  do  over, 
and  to  do  better,  was  the  opportunity  offered  to  her. 
Her  vow  rose  up  before  her;  without  the  fulfillment  of  that 
vow  there  could  be  no  better,  that  she  recognized  —  and 

yet 

All  through  the  long  ride  home  she  pondered  upon  the 
past  and  upon  the  possibilities  of  the  future.  Not  till 
after  Jack  was  safely  tucked  away  in  his  bed,  not  till 
Hepsie  had  her  supper  work  done  and  had  gone  upstairs 
and  all  the  various  members  of  her  household  had  retired 
for  the  night,  and  she  was  certain  of  hours  for  uninter- 
rupted thinking,  did  Elizabeth  Hunter  bring  out  the  un- 
opened letter  and  lay  it  on  the  table  before  her.  Even 
then  she  renewed  her  vow  before  she  broke  the  seal.  Was 
he  the  old  John,  who  would  fly  out  impulsively  and  cover 
them  all  with  disgrace  if  she  told  him?  she  asked  herself 
many  times.  In  a  cold  sweat  of  terror,  she  asked  herself 
also  if  it  were  possible  to  build  right  in  this  new  endeavour 
without  telling  John  of  the  love  which  she  had  shown  to 
Hugh;  the  temptation  was  terrible,  but  she  was  compelled 
to  shake  her  head.  The  habit  of  openness  and  fair  deal- 
ing would  not  hold  her  excused;  there  was  no  other  way, 
she  must  tell  it  out.  Carefully  she  went  over  all  the 
things  that  would  be  lost  if  this  story  should  be  bruited 
abroad.  Jack  would  be  disgraced,  she  would  be  stripped 
of  her  influence  in  the  neighbourhood,  slain  in  the  sight  of 
her  friends  who  had  fought  her  battles  for  her  because  they 
believed  in  her,  stripped  of  everything  which  had  gone  to 
make  life  worth  the  living,  and  she  would  place  herself  in 


550        THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

the  power  of  a  man  whose  only  attitude  toward  the  story 
might  be  one  of  self-righteous  justification.  Was  it  worth 
the  price?  Her  own  words  rose  up  before  her,  "Without 
honesty  no  other  virtue  is  a  virtue  at  all."  Elizabeth 
pondered  a  long  time,  and  again  her  own  words  rose  up  to 
confront  her,  "  It  does  not  matter  who  is  wrong,  the  thing 
that  matters  is  what  is  wrong, "  and  for  Elizabeth  there  was 
no  escape.  This  had  been  the  philosophy  of  her  life;  she 
was  called  upon  to  stand  or  fall  on  that  ground.  With 
her  head  bowed  in  acknowledgment,  she  drew  the  missive 
out  of  its  envelope  and  began  to  read : 

DEAR  ELIZABETH:  This  letter  will  no  doubt  surprise  you,  but  I  couldn't  wait  any 
longer.  I  might  begin  by  saying  that  I  was  homesick  for  Jack  —  which  is  true  —  but 
I'm  going  to  confess  that  I'm  homesick  for  you  too.  Is  there  still  hope?  I  would 
have  written  you  long  ago,  but  I  went  into  things  too  heavy  and  lost  the  money  I  got 
for  the  cattle  —  and  then  I  couldn't.  It  would  have  looked  like  asking  to  come  back 
to  the  land.  As  you  know,  I  mortgaged  the  home  eighty  —  it  hurt  some  to  do  that, 
knowing  you'd  have  to  sign  it  —  and  began  slower.  I  got  along  very  well,  but  it  was 
terribly  tedious,  and  at  last,  after  three  years  of  steady  work,  and  no  debts,  I  couldn't 
wait  any  longer,  and  put  half  of  what  I  had  on  the  Board  of  Trade  proceedings.  /  won! 
Last  Saturday  I  sold  all  I  had,  and  now  while  I  can  come  to  you  right,  I  want  to  ask  if 
you  will  take  me?  Take  me  quick,  if  you  are  going  to,  before  I  do  some  reckless  thing 
and  lose  it  again.  I  hear  you  have  prospered;  that  was  why  I  had  to  wait  so  long.  I 
often  think  of  dear  old  Hugh,  and  his  interest  in  some  of  the  things  about  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  I  have  been  given  to  see  while  living  in  this  rotten  hole  of  a  city  how  much  I 
underestimated  the  people  about  us  in  Kansas.  I  would  be  glad  to  come  back  and  live 
among  them.  Will  you  let  me?  A  telegram  will  bring  me  to  you  on  the  next  train. 

With  love  to  both  you  and  Jack,  who  will  be  seven  years  old  this  week, 

Affectionately, 

JOHN. 

The  tension  was  broken.  Elizabeth  laid  the  letter  back 
with  a  smile.  How  like  John  to  suggest  a  telegram! 
John  never  could  wait.  How  well  she  knew  his  little 
weaknesses;  the  written  characters  of  the  missive  had  the 
flowing  curves  of  haste  in  their  running  letters.  He  had 
written  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  no  matter  how  long 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         551 

the  desire  had  been  in  his  heart.  The  very  spontaneity 
of  the  confession  was  unpremeditated  and  worked  in  John 
Hunter's  favour.  He  had  remembered  Jack's  birthday 
too!  That  day  seven  years  ago  rose  up  in  Elizabeth's 
memory  to  plead  for  Jack's  father.  She  earnestly  desired 
John's  presence,  and  yet  —  could  it  be  done? 

Far  into  the  night  Elizabeth  Hunter  sat  with  the  letter 
before  her,  reading  and  rereading  it,  pondering  upon  the 
possibilities  of  the  future,  seeing  them  in  the  light  of  the 
past  she  had  spent  with  him,  wondering  what  sort  of  man 
her  husband  had  become  in  the  five  years  since  she  had 
seen  him.  The  letter  sounded  as  if  those  years  might 
have  been  profitable  ones.  There  was  both  the  openness 
of  real  honesty  and  the  reserve  of  real  strength  in  the  con- 
fession about  his  financial  affairs.  The  most  hopeful 
thing  she  found  in  the  letter  was  the  sentence  about 
Hugh's  estimate  of  the  neighbours  among  whom  they 
had  lived  and  the  implied  comparison  regarding  the  city 
in  which  he  now  did  business.  Dear  old  John!  Had 
Chicago  business  men  tried  the  methods  on  him  that  he 
had  thought  it  fair  to  apply  to  his  dealings  with  her?  In 
the  midst  of  that  question  rose  the  one  —  would  John 
Hunter  feel  the  same  toward  Hugh  Noland's  estimates 
when  he  was  told  the  truth  about  his  wife's  affection  for 
Hugh,  and  of  the  weakness  of  both  in  the  demonstrations 
of  that  affection?  Well,  it  had  to  be  told.  Scandal 
would  be  hard  to  face  with  no  denial  possible.  Doctor 
Morgan  had  known  it  all  and  still  trusted  her;  likewise 
Luther;  but  Hepsie,  and  Jake,  and  Sadie?  Besides,  Jack 


552         THE  .WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

would  have  to  know,  and  would  suffer  for  things  of  which 
he  was  innocent!  The  girl  wrestled  with  the  subject  till 
midnight,  and  long  after.  At  last,  to  put  it  where  she 
could  not  deceive  herself,  she  wrote  a  simple  statement  of 
the  whole  thing  and  sealed  it  up  with  John's  address  upon 
the  envelope,  and  then  raising  her  hand  solemnly  promised 
herself  that  this  letter  which  contained  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth  should  be  mailed 
as  she  had  written  it  without  being  opened  to  change  a 
word.  She  would  answer  John's  letter  in  one  apart  from 
this  and  send  it  by  the  same  mail,  but  this  letter  she  would 
send  as  it  stood. 

As  she  got  up  to  go  to  bed,  she  picked  up  the  bag  in 
which  they  brought  the  mail  and  felt  in  it  to  see  if  any- 
thing were  left.  A  small  narrow  book  that  opened  end- 
wise and  had  the  name  of  the  Bank  of  Colebyville  on  it 
was  all.  It  was  a  fitting  end  to  her  considerations.  She 
had  never  owned  a  checkbook  till  recent  years.  Because 
of  its  presence,  she  might  yet  be  able  to  answer  John 
Hunter  as  he  wished.  She  thought  long  on  her  situa- 
tion. There  was  no  sleep  in  her.  The  larger,  the  uni- 
versal, aspects  of  the  question  began  to  crowd  in  upon 
her  mind. 

"There  is  no  other  way,"  she  said.  "A  woman, 
to  be  free,  must  have  money  of  her  own.  She  must  not  be 
supported  by  a  man." 

She  stepped  out  on  the  porch  and  stood  looking  toward 
the  east.  The  refreshing  breeze  which  had  sprung  up 
cooled  and  invigorated  her. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         553 

"The  wind  before  the  dawn!  The  beginning  of  a  new 
dayl"  she  said  aloud. 

Turning  toward  the  kitchen,  she  began  to  pack  a  box 
which  stood  waiting  on  the  end  of  the  kitchen  table. 
Doughnuts,  cookies  and  pies  had  been  left  there  to  cool 
the  evening  before.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  was  to  have  threshers 
to  cook  for  to-day,  and  Elizabeth  had  grown  thoughtful 
of  the  mother,  who  was  aging  visibly.  In  such  ways  as 
she  could,  she  spared  her  mother's  strength  and  gave  her 
the  comfort  of  frequent  visits  and  companionship.  In 
order  to  get  the  long  eight-mile  drive  over  before  it  be- 
came hot,  it  was  necessary  to  get  an  early  start,  and 
Elizabeth,  with  Jack  at  her  side,  was  on  the  road  before 
the  sun  was  fairly  above  the  horizon. 

About  eight  o'clock  Mrs.  Farnshaw  turned  at  the  sound 
of  their  feet  on  her  doorstep.  She  set  her  cob  basket  on 
the  floor,  put  the  stove  lid  over  the  roaring  fire,  and  turned 
to  Jack  with  grandmotherly  delight. 

"You're  a  real  comfort,  Lizzie,"  she  said,  straightening 
up  with  Jack  in  her  arms.  "I  never  used  t'  think  you 
would  be,  but  you  are.  I'm  that  tired  that  I'm  ready 
t'drop." 

"Anything  more  than  usual?"  Elizabeth  asked,  noting 
the  fagged  and  heavy  face,  and  the  gathering  tears. 

"Oh,  nothin'  more  'n  'as  happened  many  a  time;  only 
'e  grows  crosser,  seems  to  me,  as  'e  grows  older.  He  was 
particular  bad  last  night,  and  I  didn't  sleep  none.  It's 
awful  hot  weather  t'  lay  awake. " 

When  Elizabeth  did  not  reply,  the  mother  said  testily: 


554         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Now  I  s'pose  you'll  be  thinkin'  that  you  don't  have 
t'  care  for  what  a  man  says. " 

Elizabeth  laughed,  but  not  in  her  usual  merry  way. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  was  thinking  farther 

than  that  —  I  was  wondering "  She  paused  to  think 

and  then  broke  out  suddenly.  "John's  written  to  ask  if 
he  can  come  back,  and  I  was  just  wondering 

Mrs.  Farnshaw  was  all  animation  at  once,  her  own 
troubles  forgotten. 

"You  don't  say?"  she  exclaimed.  "Now  look  here, 
Lizzie,  you're  goin'  t'  let  him  come?" 

Elizabeth  had  told  her  mother  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment  after  withholding  the  news  from  Nathan  and  even 
from  Jack.  The  child  had  been  wriggling  out  of  his  grand- 
mother's arms  and  had  not  heard  what  his  mother  said. 
Elizabeth  waited  till  he  was  out  of  hearing.  She  half 
regretted  having  mentioned  it.  She  was  going  to  have  to 
argue  out  her  decision  with  her  mother,  and  she  had  made 
no  decision. 

The  mother's  accidental  remark  had  produced  the 
impulse  to  tell.  Well,  it  was  all  right.  It  might  be  that 
she  could  decide  better  after  discussing  it  with  some  one. 
Elizabeth  looked  at  her  mother  doubtfully. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma.  I  may.  It's  all  owing  to  whether 
we  can  agree  on  the  terms  of  starting  over. " 

"You  ain't  goin'  t'  lay  down  rules  t'  him?"  the  mother 
cried  in  amazement. 

"Now's  my  time  to  find  out  what  rules  he's  going  to  lay 
down  to  me  at  least,"  Elizabeth  said  dryly. 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         555 

"But  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!  Say,  don't  you 
love  'im  any  more,  Lizzie?" 

"I  —  I  think  I  do,  ma,"  Elizabeth  said  slowly.  "But 
there's  the  very  trouble  with  women.  They  think  they 
ought  to  love  a  man  enough  to  take  him  without  a  definite 
understanding,  and  then  they  find  that  a  woman's  love 
means  mostly  obedience  to  a  man.  Yes,  I  think  I  love 
him.  But  I'm  going  to  know  what  he  expects,  and  I'm 
going  to  tell  him  what  I  expect,  and  make  no  mistakes  this 
time.  We'll  know  before  we  begin. " 

"But  he  may  not  take  you,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  said  in  a 
frightened  whisper. 

"I  rather  think  I'm  taking  him,"  Elizabeth  said,  begin- 
ning to  unload  the  box  of  provisions  she  had  brought. 
"You  forget  that  I'm  making  my  own  living." 

"That  does  make  a  difference,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  ad- 
mitted. 

"That  makes   all  the  difference,"   Elizabeth   replied 
positively.     "The  longer  I  look  at  it  the  more  convinced 
I  am  that  the  whole  thing  hinges  right  on  that  point.     If 
we  live  together  again  I'll  know  that  it  isn't  because  he 
feels  that  having  married  me  he  must  keep  me  in  food  and 
clothes,  and  he'll  know  that  it's  because  I  want  to  and  n  ji 
because  I've  got  a  child  to  be  supported.     I  believ 
him;  but  if  I  didn't  know  I  could  leave  him  in  a  min 
if  he  made  me  do  things  that  I  wasn't  able  to  do  I  would 
dare  to  say  yes.     Knowing  that  I  don't  have  to  live  \\\ 
him  if  he  begins  to  order  me  around,  I  think  I'll  try  it. 

"You're  a  queer  girl,  Lizzie,"  the  mother  said,  puzzle J 


556         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

and  uncertain  what  to  think  of  the  philosophy  she  pro- 
pounded. "You  don't  seem  to  be  afraid  of  men  at 
all." 

"I  don't  have  to  be,  ma,  because  no  man  will  ever  again 
pay  for  my  food  and  clothes.  You  are  not  to  tell  anybody, 
even  the  boys.  I  may  not  do  it  yet.  I  didn't  intend  to 
tell  you  for  a  while,  but  you  insisted  on  telling  me  what 
I  was  thinking  about,  and  it  popped  right  out  at  you." 

Elizabeth  gave  her  mother  a  tender  look  and  added: 
"I  told  you  first  when  he  asked  me  before,"  which  was 
a  thing  her  mother  could  understand  and  appreciate. 
Elizabeth  was  considerate  of  the  little  mother  whose  life 
was  hard,  and  who  was  afraid  of  a  man. 

At  that  point  Elizabeth  fell  into  a  brown  study.  She 
argued  for  her  own  rights,  knowing  that  only  on  that 
path  could  peace  come  to  either  herself  or  John,  but  she 
did  not  feel  herself  wholly  worthy,  and  John  wholly 
unworthy;  she  knew  her  weaknesses,  and  she  knew  she 
had  wronged  John  Hunter  as  well  as  he  had  wronged  her; 
she  was  willing  to  take  him  if  he  would  be  as  willing  to 
correct  his  faults  and  confess  them  as  she  was  willing  to 
do.  She  did  not  ask  of  John  Hunter  that  he  be  always 
right  in  his  actions  toward  her,  but  that  he  discuss  their 
grievances  and  let  them  look  together  for  better  ways  of 
settling  what  was  right  for  each.  She  was  so  deep  in  her 
own  thoughts  that  she  did  not  hear  Jack,  who  called  to  her 
from  the  door: 

"Mamma,  let's  go!  Come  on!  They're  going  right 
now,  mamma!" 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         557 

Elizabeth  did  not  hear  the  child  till  he  tugged  at  her 
skirts  and  exclaimed: 

"Come  on,  mamma!  Grandma  won't  care.  Come 
on!" 

His  mother  looked  down  at  the  boy  with  a  smile. 
How  well  she  remembered  the  delights  of  threshing-day 
herself.  She  looked  about  the  kitchen  to  see  what  had 
yet  to  be  done. 

"Wait  a  little,  Jack.  I've  got  to  help  get  the  table  set 
and  the  dinner  on  to  cook.  You  wouldn't  have  me  leave 
grandma  to  do  all  the  work  alone,  would  you  ? "  she  asked 
suggestively. 

As  Jack  hesitated  between  his  great  desire  to  see  the 
marvel  of  the  stackyard  and  his  desire  to  show  as  much 
manliness  as  his  mother  evidently  expected  of  him,  there 
was  a  noise  on  the  doorstep  and  Hepsie  came  smilingly  in. 

"I  followed  you  all  on  th'  pony,"  she  said.  "I  fixed 
it  up  with  th'  boys  yesterday  t'  take  a  cold  dinner  to-day 
an'  let  me  come  an'  help  here.  We're  lookin'  out  that  you 
don't  hurt  yourself  to-day,  Mis  Farnshaw,"  she  added, 
addressing  the  older  woman. 

"Now  you  can  go  to  the  threshing  machine  too,  grand- 
ma!" Jack  cried  with  delight.  "Come  on,  let's  go  right 
now!" 

"Not  now,  Jack,"  Elizabeth  said.  "Hepsie  didn't  come 
to  get  the  dinner  alone. " 

"Oh,  yes,  she  did!  She  likes  to,"  Jack  replied  so  con- 
fidently that  they  all  laughed,  and  Hepsie  fell  on  the  child 
and  hugged  him. 


558         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

"Of  course  I  did,  Jack.  Grandma  will  show  me  what 
to  do,  and  then  she  and  mamma  can  take  you  out  to  see 
the  machine  go  round  and  round  like  a  big  coffee  mill, 
and  maybe  Jack  can  ride  one  of  the  horses." 

"Oh,  Hepsie!  Don't  put  that  into  the  child's  head," 
Elizabeth  interposed  hastily.  "I  wouldn't  have  him  on 
one  of  those  horses  for  anything." 

"Mamma  says  I  spoil  you,  Jack.  Run  along  now,  and 
let  me  look  after  this  dinner. " 

As  soon  as  the  tables  were  set  and  the  dinner  on  to  cook, 
Elizabeth  and  her  mother  took  the  excited  child  and 
started  to  the  barnyard.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  was  pulled 
along  by  the  impatient  grandson,  and  Elizabeth  came  at 
some  distance  behind,  having  stopped  to  glance  in  the 
chicken  house  as  she  went.  The  marvellous  ant-hill  called 
a  stackyard  would  not  permit  Jack  to  wait  for  his  mother. 

Mr.  Farnshaw  saw  them  coming.  He  would  gladly 
have  avoided  his  wife  and  daughter,  but  Jack  took  things 
for  granted  and  always  insisted  upon  dragging  his  mother 
into  his  grandfather's  presence  and  mixing  them  up  in  the 
conversation.  Elizabeth  had  dropped  behind  purposely, 
knowing  her  father's  feelings  toward  her,  and  did  not  hear 
Jack  say  persuasively: 

"Grandpa,  let  Jack  drive  and  make  the  horses  go 
round." 

"No,  no,  Jack,"  Mrs.  Farnshaw  said  quickly.  "Mam- 
ma said  you  could  not  go  on  the  horsepower. " 

Mr.  Farnshaw  gave  his  wife  a  look  of  disdain  and, 
stooping,  picked  the  child  up.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  gave  a 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         559 

little  cry.  When  his  own  team  came  around,  Mr.  Farn- 
shaw  walked  in  front  of  it  and  started  toward  the  plat- 
form on  which  Albert  stood  swinging  a  long  whip. 

The  "near  horse"  of  the  Farnshaw  team  was  a  stolid 
and  reliable  mare,  mother  of  many  colts.  She  was  so 
placed  because  it  had  been  decided  to  put  a  young  stallion 
of  uncertain  temper  beside  her. 

The  restive,  irritable  beast  sustained  his  reputation  by 
nipping  angrily  at  Mr.  Farnshaw  as  he  dodged  under  the 
straps  with  which  the  horses  were  tied  to  the  reach  ahead. 
To  have  passed  in  front  of  this  team  unencumbered  and 
alone  when  the  power  was  in  motion  would  have  been 
foolhardy;  but  with  Jack  in  his  arms  it  was  an  act  of  mock- 
heroics  typical  of  the  whole  bull-headed  character  of 
Josiah  Farnshaw.  He  stumbled  slightly  in  springing  out 
of  the  horse's  way,  and  with  Jack,  who  was  a  load,  in  his 
arms,  was  barely  able  to  keep  his  feet. 

A  shout  went  up  from  every  man  who  saw  the  occur- 
rence, and  Albert  shut  off  the  power  in  the  endeavour  to 
stop  the  machine. 

Mr.  Farnshaw  sprang  toward  the  inner  corner  of  the 
triangular  space  occupied  by  the  team,  and  as  the  ma- 
chine slowly  came  to  a  full  stop  set  Jack  on  the  boards  at 
Albert's  feet  and  turned  toward  the  horses.  The  stallion 
threw  a  challenge  at  the  man  who  had  escaped  its  teeth> 
reared  angrily,  shook  its  black  mane,  and,  with  teeth 
exposed  and  ears  laid  back,  prepared  for  another  lunge. 
Not  only  Mrs.  Farnshaw  but  every  man  on  the  ground 
called  to  Josiah  Farnshaw  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the 


560         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

infuriated  beast.  Instead  of  heeding  the  frantic  warn- 
ings, Mr.  Farnshaw,  determined  to  let  his  onlooking 
neighbours  see  that  he  was  not  afraid,  sprang  forward  and 
struck  the  squealing  animal  a  stinging  blow  on  the  nose 
with  his  fist.  Taken  by  surprise,  the  horse  set  back  so 
suddenly  that  he  broke  the  straps  with  which  he  and  his 
mate  were  fastened  to  the  reach,  falling  against  the  mare, 
who  was  thoroughly  frightened  by  her  master's  menacing 
blow.  The  team  behind  them  reared  and  snorted  as  the 
stallion  sprang  to  its  feet  again. 

Then  a  strange  and  terrible  thing  happened.  The 
horse  stopped  and  made  ready  for  the  plunge  he  had  in 
mind.  There  were  warning  cries  from  every  man  in  the 
stackyard,  but  there  was  no  chance  to  escape.  With  a 
scream  which  struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  the  onlookers 
the  brute  sprang  upon  the  man  and  sunk  its  teeth  through 
flesh  and  bone  alike  as  it  grabbed  the  arm  which  was 
aiming  a  puny  blow,  and  shook  him  as  if  he  were  a  rag, 
flinging  him  against  the  ground  under  its  feet,  and  shaking 
him  as  a  dog  shakes  a  rat  it  has  captured.  The  men 
could  not  rush  in,  because  the  other  horse  was  on  the  out- 
side of  the  team  and  was  kicking  and  struggling  to  free 
itself  from  the  shrieking  stallion.  Every  team  attached 
to  the  machine  was  tearing  at  its  moorings,  and  horrified 
as  the  men  were  they  were  obliged  to  attempt  to  control 
the  other  horses.  The  team  immediately  in  front  of  the 
stallion  broke  away  altogether,  carrying  away  with  it  the 
reach  to  which  it  was  fastened.  Seeing  his  opportunity, 
Joe  Farnshaw  rushed  into  the  space  left  open  by  the  dis- 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN        561 

appearance  of  the  other  team,  and  with  a  well-directed 
blow  from  an  iron  bar  he  had  snatched  up,  he  staggered 
the  horse  so  that  it  dropped  the  nerveless  thing  it  had  been 
shaking,  and  stood  stunned  and  trembling,  sight,  sound, 
and  all  other  matters  of  sense  gone.  The  body  was 
snatched  away  from  in  front  of  the  tottering  horse  in  time 
to  save  it  from  the  heavy  weight  of  the  falling  animal, 
which  began  to  tremble,  and  then,  losing  control  of  its 
legs  altogether,  fell  heavily  toward  the  platform,  dragging 
its  mate  to  her  knees  as  it  went. 

Elizabeth  quieted  her  shrieking  mother  as  best  she  could 
while  she  hugged  her  rescued  child  to  her  bosom,  and  the 
sons  of  Josiah  Farnshaw  helped  the  men  to  lay  the  broken 
body  of  their  father  upon  an  improvised  stretcher  to  be 
removed  to  the  house.  Kind  hands  performed  the  little 
duties  necessary  on  such  occasions,  and  then  the  horrified 
men  stayed  on,  gathered  in  little  groups  about  the  dead 
stallion  in  the  stackyard. 

When  all  was  done  and  the  family  were  reduced  to  that 
terrorizing  state  of  idleness  which  comes  to  those  who 
stand  about  their  dead,  Elizabeth  took  Jack  and  wandered 
out  of  the  house  to  where  she  could  see  Joe  standing  near 
the  well.  Together  they  glanced  across  to  the  men  stand- 
ing around  the  torn  and  dismantled  horsepower. 

"Pa  was  like  that  horse,  Joe,"  Elizabeth  said  with  a 
sudden  gleam  of  insight.  "They  were  both  ruled  by 
unbridled  passions.  Everything  they  did  they  mixed  up 
with  hate.  You  couldn't  touch  either  of  them  without 
having  them  lay  back  their  ears." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


"TILL  DEATH  DO  YOU  PART 


THE  day  after  .  osiah  Farnshaw  was  buried,  Eliza- 
beth sat  down  to  answer  John's  letter.  It  was 
not  easy  to  do,  and  she  sat  for  a  long  time  with  her 
chin  in  her  hand  before  she  began  to  write.  The  death  of 
her  father  related  to  the  things  of  which  she  must  speak. 
She  began  by  telling  him  the  circumstances  of  her  father's 
death  and  showed  him  that  the  tragedy  had  been  the 
result  of  pride  and  the  habit  of  domination,  of  an  unwill- 
ingness to  listen  to  advice,  or  to  discuss  necessary  mat- 
ters. Her  brothers  had  urged  that  the  stallion  be  left  in 
the  barn  and  that  another  horse  be  substituted,  since  by 
its  outcries  and  prancings  it  would  keep  the  strange 
horses  nervous  and  irritable,  but  Mr.  Farnshaw,  having 
said  in  the  beginning  that  the  animal  should  be  used,  would 
not  listen  to  anything  that  the  family  wished  him  to  do  in 
the  matter.  Mrs.  Farnshaw  had  objected  to  Jack  being 
placed  upon  the  horsepower,  but  once  having  started  to 
place  him  there,  her  husband  would  listen  to  no  caution. 
Last  but  not  least  of  those  refusals  to  advise  with  those 
who  knew  as  well  as  he  what  should  be  done  had  been  the 
one  of  not  heeding  the  cries  of  the  men  who  had  warned 
him  not  to  approach  the  vicious  brute.  To  dominate 

562 


THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN         563 

had  been  the  keynote  of  her  father's  character;  his  death 
had  been  a  fitting  symbol  of  his  overweening  desire  to 
pursue  that  phantom. 

After  enlarging  upon  the  causes  of  the  tragedy,  she 
took  up  the  matter  of  the  refusal  to  listen  to  necessary 
explanations  which  had  had  so  much  to  do  with  her 
separation  from  her  husband. 

Hugh  Noland's  life  was  sacrificed  because  he  could  not  go  to  you  and  talk  to  you  of 
necessary  things,  and  I  am  determined  that  if  you  and  I  ever  come  together 
again  that  neither  of  us  shall  be  afraid  to  talk  out  anything  in  this  whole  world  that  is 
of  interest  to  us  both.  Hugh  and  I  would  have  been  so  glad  to  go  to  you  and  ask  you 
to  let  him  be  taken  away,  or  to  have  asked  you  to  help  us  to  higher  living  till  he  was 
well  enough  to  go.  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  we  both  recognized  that  it  was  wronging 
you  for  him  to  stay  on  in  the  house  after  we  discovered  that  we  loved  each  other.  Hugh 
planned  to  go,  and  then  came  the  accident,  and  we  were  helpless.  At  last,  in  order  not 
to  defeat  me  when  he  saw  that  I  was  trying  to  overcome  the  fault  in  myself,  he  thought 
it  necessary  to  die  so  that  I  should  be  free.  You  know,  John  dear,  I  should  never  try 
to  live  with  you  again  unless  I  could  tell  you  anything  and  know  that  you'd  listen  and 
be  fair,  even  to  my  love  for  another  man.  There  you  have  me  as  I  am.  If  you  don't 
want  me,  don't  take  me;  but  at  least  you  are  not  deceived  about  the  kind  of  woman  you 
are  going  to  live  with  this  time. 

Then  Elizabeth  pointed  out  to  him  how  he  had  refused 
to  read  Hugh's  innocent  letter,  and  then  went  on  to  con- 
sider affairs  between  herself  and  John. 

You  will  probably  remember  also  that  when  we  were  talking  over  the  coming  of  our 
second  child  five  years  ago  you  said  that  I  was  foolish  to  be  disturbed  about  it  —  that 
if  I  had  not  had  the  wherewithal  to  feed  and  clothe  it  I  might  have  had  good  cause  for 
complaint,  but  otherwise  not.  That  is  another  matter  we  must  settle  before  we  reopen 
life  together.  Mere  food  and  clothes  are  but  a  part  of  a  child's  natural  and  proper 
rights  of  inheritance.  My  future  children  —  and  I  hope  I  shall  have  more  than  the 
one  I  have  now  —  must  be  prepared  for  earnestly  and  rightly.  We  are  better  prepared 
to  have  children  now  than  when  we  were  younger,  but  if  we  wish  the  best  from  our 
children,  we  must  give  the  best  to  their  beginnings  as  well  as  to  their  upbringings,  and 
you  and  I  would,  I  am  sure,  come  much  closer  to  each  other  and  begin  to  understand 
each  other  much  better  after  adopting  such  a  policy.  When  we  were  married  our 
love  would  not  permit  us  to  exact  conditions,  but  I  have  learned  to  love  you  and  myself 
enough  to  wish  to  consider  all  the  conditions  of  which  I  have  been  speaking  before  we 
begin  to  live  together  again. 

Years  ago  I  was  glibly  willing  to  advise  my  mother  to  get  a  divorce  —  for  her  I  am  not 


564         THE  WIND  BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

sure  yet  but  that  it  was  the  only  way  to  freedom  —  but  I  have  lived  and  learned,  and 
you  see  that  for  myself  I  have  not  wanted  it.  I  have  come  to  understand  that  you  and 
I  are  bound  together  —  not  by  the  fact  of  Jack's  presence,  I  mean  not  by  the  mere 
knowledge  that  we  have  him,  but  by  some  other  law  of  which  he  is  but  the  outward 
evidence.  No  magistrate  could  separate  us.  I  belong  to  you  and  you  belong  to  me  by 
some  primal  law  of  life,  not  because  some  minister  said  over  us,  "Till  death  do  you 
part,"  but  because  toe  have  permitted  ourselves  to  become  one  flesh.  Having  set  up  these 
relations,  let  us  struggle  with  the  conditions  they  entail. 

There  must  be  freedom  in  our  home  if  it  is  to  be  reorganized.  I  want  you  to  be  just 
as  free  as  I  am.  I  told  you  before  you  left  that  you  should  run  the  farm;  I  still  prefer 
it.  I  don't  care  what  you  do  on  it,  so  long  as  you  do  not  mortgage  it.  I  think  I  have 
a  right  to  keep  a  certain  part  of  it  free  from  debt  if  I  choose  to  do  so,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  a 
home  in  my  old  age,  since  I  have  to  suffer  if  we  lose  it;  otherwise  you  are  free  to  do 
as  you  wish  with  any  part  of  it. 

I  think  I  have  a  better  sort  of  love  to  offer  you  than  I  had  before,  just  because  it 
includes  a  knowledge  of  our  weaknesses.  I  have  had  to  tell  you  all  this  in  order  that  we 
begin  square,  but  I  liked  your  letter,  and  I  believe  we  can  come  to  an  understanding. 
My  love  for  Hugh  Noland  is  but  a  memory,  but  when  your  letter  came  I  found  that 
my  love  for  you  was  a  living  thing,  that  I  wanted  you  very  much,  and  even  as  I  write 
you  these  words  I  want  you. 

When  her  writing  was  finished  Elizabeth  went  to  the  barn 
to  saddle  the  horses,  thinking  that  she  would  take  Jack 
with  her  and  ride  into  town  to  mail  both  letters  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening.  She  saddled  Jack's  pony  and  started 
around  the  corner  of  the  barn  to  tie  it  in  the  lane, 
when  she  saw,  turning  into  that  lane,  John  Hunter, 
with  a  valise  in  his  hand.  He  had  come  in  on  the  noon 
train  and  had  caught  a  ride  out  home  with  a  stranger 
passing  that  way.  John  saw  her  and  waved  his  hand, 
calling  to  her.  To  Elizabeth  he  was  still  fair  to  look 
upon.  She  walked  toward  him  holding  out  the  letters 
she  had  written. 


THE    END 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

To  Maynard  Shipley,  for  the  suggestion 
that  I  take  material  in  a  letter  which  I  had 
written  to  my  son  and  put  it  into  story  form, 
and  for  the  confident  assertion  that  I  could 
write  a  story  when  I  doubted  my  story- 
telling powers. 

To  my  son,  whose  interested  demand  for 
"another  chapter"  kept  the  plot  unfolding. 

To  S.  N.  Hillyard,  for  critical  assistance 
which  in  the  end  amounted  almost  to  collab- 
oration, and  from  whose  pen  will  come  better 
things  than  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  write. 

To  Bruce  Blivin  for  suggestions  of  title. 


THE  COUNTRY  LITE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


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